Dues to Pay
by Arenas
Summary: SPNxTW The Winchester brothers are sent to NJ because of another of Sam's mysterious visions, this time involving members of an elite force by the name of Torchwood and a monster that might be too powerful to handle.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Dues to Pay

**Author:** Arenas

**Fandoms:** Supernatural/Torchwood

**Characters/Pairings:** All, but features Sam, Dean, Jack, Ianto specifically. Implied Jack/Ianto

**Rating:** PG-13 now for language and graphic violence

**Warnings:** Spoilers for "In My Time of Dying" (SPN) and "They Keep Killing Suzie (TW), gory violence, possible character death, slash (Jack/Ianto)

**Disclaimer:** I am but a college student who is too poor to pay for my own tuition. I own nada.

**Summary:** The Winchester brothers are sent to NJ because of another of Sam's mysterious visions, this time involving members of an elite force by the name of Torchwood and a monster that might be too powerful to handle.

**A/N:** First fic for both fandoms.

**Prologue**

"Gwen!"

"Here!"

"Ianto!"

No answer, just too-loud breathing in his ears—his own breathing—as uncomfortable thoughts ran through his mind about the whereabouts of the Welshman. He scanned the forest with a sharp eye and increasing worry. "_Ianto_!" If he didn't return, there was going to be some hell to—

Jack Harkness whirled, long coat swirling about his legs when he heard the strangled gasp. The dark-haired man stumbled through the trees, nearly tripping on his shoes and tumbling to the ground. "Sir!"

He rushed forward, catching Ianto under the arms before the other man really did land on his face. Captain Jack sank down on his haunches to make things easier on his back and arms, and proceeded to rearrange the weakened Ianto. There was a brief stirring of pine needles as Gwen paused nearby, gun out. He spared a moment for a bit of mental praise.

"How bad is it?" she whispered. He noticed the brown eyes flicking repeatedly back to check Ianto's white-as-a-sheet complexion, even as she scanned the perimeter. Jack didn't exactly blame her: Ianto looked anything but healthy.

"Out with it, Ianto, what happened?"

The breath still gusted in and out of his mouth at a frantic pace and Jack glimpsed far more of the whites of Ianto's eyes than he cared to. The man was trembling. It was a very long and very tense silence before the stuttered word passed Ianto's lips. "R-reapers."

It didn't have much of an impact on Gwen, but Jack shook his head furiously. "Nuh uh, Ianto, what really happened?"

Gwen frowned, a hint of disgust tainting her expression as she finally lost the good soldier attitude. "Jack, why not? What are we hunting? What are reapers?"

"It's not a reaper! Ianto, what did you see?" Jack snapped, slapping him gently on the cheek. The Welshman's head tilted backwards, his pupils growing progressively larger until they nearly engulfed the entire iris. A look of loathing curled his lips and he flung himself out of Jack's grip, landing with a thump on the moist ground. He was on his feet in a second, whacking the dust and pine needles out of his clothes in a sad attempt to tidy himself up.

"Ianto!" Gwen called feebly.

"No," he snapped. His hands migrated upwards so that his fingers could attack his mussed up hair and disentangle the stray twigs. Despite the goofy appearance, his point was made. "I know what I saw; I saw a reaper!" He tromped back towards the line of trees, keeping his gaze trained on the ground beneath his feet.

"Ianto…was it Owen?"

The figure near the trees stopped abruptly, the momentum from his pacing causing him to rock back and forth. Even Jack looked grim at Gwen's question as he got back to his feet. The girl offered a sheepish expression in return that promised a thorough explanation in a safer environment. Jack opted to say nothing and concentrate on helping Ianto first.

Gwen took a tentative step forward, trying to engage the dark-haired man in conversation. "Ianto, if it's about what Owen said, you don't have to listen to him! He was just kidding, you know that. He just gets a bit full of himself is—"

"IANTO!"

Jack leaped forward, shoving Gwen to the ground. He covered two strides before the creature fully emerged. Another two strides, and it had launched itself into the air, leathery wings snapped open to slow its descent. One step, it had landed on top of the Welshman; another step, the gaping mouth in its chest with the multitude of razor teeth had closed around Ianto's torso.

"IANTO!" Jack screamed again. The hand gun was snug in his palm and firing shot after shot at the demon. It barely noticed: it had wrapped its wings about itself for a more private feeding. When Gwen started firing—too little too late—the creature raised its head and issued a moist hiss from its chest. Those angry, red eyes set wide in the black face were narrowed at Captain Jack Harkness.

The demon got roughly to its feet, but the scene seemed to unravel in slow motion. The lower half of Ianto Jones that was perched in those jaws slid downwards, creating jagged rents in the clothes. The lower body finally fell out of the bloody mouth and thumped to the ground, sending a small puff of dead needles into the air.

When the creature leaped into the air and winged away, Jack was out of bullets, on his knees, and deaf to Gwen Cooper's frantic shakes; all that seemed to be registering stimuli were his blank, roving eyes. The dull blue gaze was locked on a particular shadow within the darkness of the forest. The dark form disappeared, and Jack got slowly to his feet.

"Jack, come on!"

Gwen continued to babble, trying to get his attention so they could high tail it back to the motel. Jack's gaze never left that spot in the woods. "A man."

"What? Jack, what did you see?"

"A man did this to Ianto. And when I find him, I am going to feed him to his pet bit by bit until he—"

"What did you see? Sammy? Sammy, what'd you see?"

Sam Winchester gasped, arms flailing for a hold on something solid and real. His fingers encountered the familiar, worn leather of the Impala bench and the digits immediately curled around it in a death grip. He was still panting and trying to get his vitals back to normal and Dean was already homing in on the vision. That wasn't cool.

"Sammy, you okay?" Dean had that look on, the one where he was pretending to look concerned but casual when he was actually pretty weirded out. Even Dean had noticed that that vision wasn't right; that just made Sam feel so much better. He dragged his hand down his face to try to ease the throb of the customary headache and took another deep breath.

"Uh…yeah, Dean. Fine." Fine. That was funny. Sam couldn't remember "fine" anymore in a not completely bat-shit crazy context.

"So…?" At his brother's slightly befuddled look, Dean groaned. "Dude, it's not like we're not just gonna drop all our shit and take care of your vision. Much as I like arguing, I try and avoid the ones I haven't got a shot in hell of winning. Can we just skip to the part where you tell me what damsel's got her panties up her crack now?"

Sam had just seen a man get bitten messily in half by…something, and Dean was cranky from not yet procuring a decent cup of coffee. Sam's lips thinned as he exhaled heavily through his nose. Some days, he would rather have Dean be the one with the headaches; then he figured that it probably wouldn't be fair to the rest of the world when it would have to rely on Dean to act on the visions. Definitely not fair. So bit his tongue, brought up his hands, and massaged his forehead wearily. "We're going to south Jersey. Woodbury."

"Because…?"

"Because a group of English tourists are going to be attacked by a giant flying animal. One of them claimed to see a Reaper."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Like they'd know a Reaper from a spirit."

"They might be hunters, Dean. Two of them seemed at least slightly familiar with the idea of Reapers. If they are hunters, all the more reason we have to save them."

"If they are hunters, all the more reason they can take care of themselves," Dean muttered to himself. Sam didn't have the heart to rebuke him, not when he was still trying clear his head. In a more conversational tone, Dean asked, "Any particular reason they're in New Jersey? Not exactly the first stop I'd make when visiting the US."

"You'd be lucky to visit at all, what with you and planes," Sam retorted. His head still ached like hell, even when cradled in his cool palms. He barely saw the finger come up and point at the spot between his eyes.

"Watch it. He didn't mean it, really." Sam heard the rasp of skin on dry leather, and assumed a tender moment between man and car. A moment Sam wasn't in the mood for.

"So we're going?" the younger Winchester sighed.

"We have a choice?"

Sam grimaced as he made an attempt to shrug. It just ended up sending a fresh wave of pain through his skull, so he removed his hands and rested his head gently against the glass of the window. He just hoped that the bad vibes he was picking up were nothing more than a residual sickness to Dean's shmoopy affection for the Impala.


	2. Chapter 1

**Title:** Dues to Pay

**Author:** Arenas

**Fandoms:** Supernatural/Torchwood

**Characters/Pairings:** All, but features Sam, Dean, Jack, Ianto specifically. Implied Jack/Ianto

**Rating:** PG-13 now for language and graphic violence

**Warnings:** Spoilers for "In My Time of Dying" (SPN) and "Cyberwoman" (TW), gory violence, possible character death, slash (Jack/Ianto)

**Disclaimer:** I am but a college student who is too poor to pay for my own tuition. I own nada.

**Summary:** The Winchester brothers are sent to NJ because of another of Sam's mysterious visions, this time involving members of an elite force by the name of Torchwood and a monster that might be too powerful to handle.

**Chapter 1**

Ianto deftly balanced the cardboard cup tray in one hand, slender fingers placed equidistant from each other on the underside of the carton. It had been a nice day outside, so Ianto had opted to fetch the coffee himself, instead of resorting to the pot again. The Captain could prefer his to be home-brewed, but it was too nice a day to be cooped up in the Hub. He let himself down the stairs with the intent to pass out the beverages. Everybody liked a bit of looking after, after all, and Ianto was the man to do it.

"So, Tosh, who was your most powerful shag?" Owen was asking in that offhand manner that was supposed to indicate nonchalance. It really just got on Ianto's nerves, but he would never tell another soul about that. Owen could pretend to be as cool as he pleased; Ianto would smile gently and disappear into the background like he always did.

Tosh didn't seem to be taking Owen's special brand of charm in stride. "Why don't you annoy someone else for a change? Haven't you got actual work to be doing?"

"Work? That's a bloody laugh; we never get any honest work about here. Not unless something goes and gets itself flung through the Rift." Ianto could hear the sneer in the doctor's voice and didn't like it one bit. He left Owen's coffee on his desk before turning to personally place Tosh's tea in her hand. She glanced up with a small, though slightly strained smile and thanked him. Ianto nodded, returning the smile.

"Ianto," Owen crowed. He hated when Owen had to butcher his name like that. Ee-AN-toe. "Ianto won't answer either, I'll bet. Who's your richest, most influential shag? You worked for Torchwood One; I bet you met some pretty interesting people."

The smile meant for Tosh seemed frozen in place. He could just ignore the lewd question, but that would almost certainly guarantee some sort of ridicule for the rest of the day. What was the answer that would make him go away? Ianto's fingers tightened around the carton, and his smile grew progressively greener as he scrabbled for a reasonable answer. "I had Lisa. I didn't need to know another person..." Ianto paused, eyes drifting downwards. "... for sport."

He brushed past Owen, refusing to make eye contact with him or Tosh. If his hand clenched any further, he was in danger of spilling the rest of the beverages—a sign that Ianto had to calm down. He could already feel a blush creeping up his cheeks and the back of his neck as testimony to his foolishness. There was no reason to get worked up over something as ignorant as one of Owen's questions. He took a bracing breath, and raised his head to a respectable height again. He could still hear Owen laughing and hooting.

"I knew it! I bet he's doing the Captain. Or 'knowing,' as he says it. How old-fashioned is that? Think that's why Jack won't let him on missions? Too precious to lose?"

His bottom lip somehow worked its way between his teeth and by the time he had returned to his desk—he hadn't even given the Captain his coffee—he could already taste the coppery blood that was slicking his tongue and upper lip. That wouldn't do at all. Ianto swallowed the curse on the tip of his tongue and went to the washroom to make himself respectable again.

_All right, all right, enough of this. You're acting like a bloody child. They will inquire about your personal life, and you don't have to listen. Chin up,_ Ianto told himself sternly. Cupping his hand beneath the tap, he splashed the water on his chin and mouth. After a bit of a scrub down to remove the dried, flaking blood, he repeated the process twice more. His chin was still red, but it was no longer from the blood. _There. All better. Now to get that coffee to the Captain._

He took a short detour to his desk to fetch Jack's styrofoam cup before braving the antagonizing comments again. This time, Ianto spotted Gwen sitting on Owen's desk while the doctor straddled his own chair. They hadn't noticed him yet, or they simply didn't care. He wouldn't have minded either option, so long as it remained that way. _Chin up, Ianto._

He had to force himself to ignore their giggling and intimate contact, but he walked with a steady gait. He even managed a thin smile when Gwen spotted him with a cheerful look. "Ianto! Jack's been wondering where you got to with the coffee."

"A likely story," Owen chimed in. "I bet he just wants his mid-morning shag."

"Owen!" Gwen gasped, a spurt of laughter escaping with the rush of air. Her expression, Ianto mused, was supposed to convey amused disbelief at just how far Owen went with his comments; and, therefore, put him at ease. It was funny how he didn't find them the least bit entertaining; the positive look he had tried so hard to cultivate melted off his face in an instant. Ianto continued on his mission, but it was against his better judgment.

"What? It's not like he denies it. Honestly, I think that's why Ianto gets that nice desk job. Captain's immortal, he'll come home regardless. He just doesn't want to get lonely if nobody else does."

Ianto stopped and, forgetting himself for the moment, snapped out, "He's your captain too."

The doctor stood up, head raised defiantly. "Doesn't mean he isn't getting a bit of reconciliation on the side. Come on, Ianto, how often do you guys do it after hours? When we're all home in bed and the lights are off, what goes on in Torchwood Tower?"

"Stop, just stop it," Ianto hissed. This wasn't how he pictured this scene going at all. He was supposed to be strong and take their childishness. They didn't even mention Lisa anymore, though Ianto supposed he'd probably dissuaded them from that by his severe display of emotion on the matter. Ianto made another attempt to get on with his work, wanting nothing more than to drop the subject. "He's the Captain, and he requested coffee half an hour ago."

Owen's eyes narrowed, lips thinner than normal. Ianto almost suspected that he might offer a rebuke; a tense minute later, Ianto continued on his way. It was when he was six steps from the door that he heard it: "I'll bet twenty quid the captain doesn't let him on the next mission."

He had to fight not to slam the door behind him. Nevertheless, just the sound of the door clicking closed was enough to distract the Captain. The crumpled paper ball he had just tossed bounced off the edge of the waste bin and fell to the floor with a rasping sound. A small groan escaped from the Captain's throat, causing Ianto to flush slightly at the disappointed noise. He stepped forward, making sure to stare directly at the ground while his ears burned like twin beacons, and set the coffee on a coaster.

"Just the way you like, sir," he whispered, unable to speak much louder lest he embarrassed himself. The longer he stood there looking at his shoes, the redder he got. Ianto knew that he was being scrutinized and he couldn't handle it. "I'll just be going then."

He managed to about-face neatly, and he had one leg extended to carry him out of that too-stuffy office when Jack finally spoke.

"Ianto, what happened?"

No matter what, Ianto had no intention of telling Jack what Owen had said. Not only would it be tattling, but he might as well hang a sign about his neck declaring himself Jack's spy as well. The ridicule would increase tenfold, and the rift between himself and the rest of Torchwood would grow even more. Ianto could barely stand the taunting now; no, Jack could not find out. He shuffled around to at least face Jack while he lied to him. "Just a bit of a stomach bug, sir. Nothing to worry about."

Ianto smiled weakly, trying to ignore the feeling that his lower lip might possibly be jutting out farther than normal. Jack's cool blue eyes were completely unreadable as they often were when they were searching for an answer. It was like being in primary school again, standing before the headmaster with the back of the neck afire from shame or guilt or both. The only problem was that the headmaster happened to be more than just his best friend.

"Maybe you should take the day off," Jack mused.

"Oh no, sir, I'm sure it will pass. Nothing a bit of paperwork can't cure."

He could never hide anything from Jack. His bluff would never work. He was practically i suffocating /i from the incredulity in the gaze. Ianto hadn't noticed how shallow his breathing had gotten until Jack nodded and smirked faintly. "Get better, all right? That's your job."

If Ianto hadn't been careful, he would have sighed with relief. As it were, he managed to contain his exhilaration by the skin of his teeth and settled for a more genuine grin. "I believe I was employed as a secretary."

"Among other things," Jack replied airily. He tilted backwards in his chair, eyelids drifting slowly downward. No longer was his gaze of the terrifying, piercing quality, and Ianto was more than thankful. He could scurry up to his office to rest and think about the best way to handle future inelegant conversations. Perhaps he could get a few of those reports out of the way, and get the upper hand in the paper towers taking up residence on his desk. That would mean less time spent working late—

Suddenly, the comm on Jack's desk chattered a series of high-pitched beeps, breaking off Ianto's thoughts mid-sentence. The captain sighed, sitting upright again with a lugubrious look and pressed the blinking button on the device. "This better be reaaally good," he warned, dragging the vowel sound out.

"Jack? Sir, you might want to come see this…" the line buzzed in response, sounding only vaguely like Tosh. Jack quirked an eyebrow at Ianto, who merely shrugged with a shake of the head. Tosh hadn't seemed to be worried about anything when Ianto had passed through the last time, merely irritated with the annoyances around her. It sounded big, whatever it was.

"Be right there." Jack depressed the button and stretched widely, feet poking out from beneath the desk. "Always during the coffee. Always. It's a conspiracy," he articulated around a yawn.

"Unlikely, sir," Ianto answered apologetically. "I believe I would have tried slightly harder with the timing had I been conspiring against you. I still am in the possession of a small stopwatch, sir."

Jack gave a small snort of laughter, lips pulled back in a grin over a set of fine white teeth. "If you're not careful, you're going to develop a sense of humour."

"I try not to, sir."

The captain rocked out of the chair, still laughing silently as he placed a hand on the back of his neck and shuffled towards the door. He shot a teasing look over his shoulder, hand resting on the door knob.

"You coming?"

Ianto nodded brightly, following Jack out of the room and back to the central area of Torchwood HQ. Now, instead of lounging at a desk, Gwen and Owen were now huddled around Tosh's computer station with similar expressions of anxiety. Jack slid past the pair to get a better look from Tosh's side, but Ianto settled for waiting in the back and getting the stray glance or two. Chances were good that he wouldn't have much to contribute to the conversation anyway.

"What've you got, Tosh?"

The Asian woman sighed. "You're not going to like it. I'm getting some really bizarre readings that are almost like patterns from the Rift, but not. They're…stale. And they're not in the most confidence inspiring place, either."

Jack rolled his eyes. "No place with a reading of Rift activity is exactly confidence inspiring."

"They're in southern New Jersey."

"What? That's not possible, it's over Cardiff. The Rift can't spit things out over an entire ocean," Owen snapped. "You said they were stale, maybe you've been picking them up the whole time and never noticed."

"No way." Tosh shook her head before craning her head over her shoulder to make eye contact. "That isn't what's stale. The readings are new, but whatever is causing them is old. It came through the Rift ages ago. Centuries, perhaps."

"And you're sure it came through the Rift," Jack piped up.

"Reasonably."

"How much?"

"About 85 sure, but I know that whatever it is, it's powerful. It should be investigated anyway."

"Tosh, contact Geneva, tell them whatever you have to to convince them that it probably came from the Rift and we need to check it out. Gwen, Owen, we'll fly over and investigate. If it's something worth looking into, we'll stay; if not, we'll turn it over to the proper authorities. Ianto, we're going to need lodgings, transportation, plane tickets—"

Ianto was barely listening to the list being rattled off. It was going to be quite lonely around the Hub, if still slightly busy. Tosh would get wrapped up in her work, and she would be in contact with the captain for most of the trip. Naturally, it would be Ianto's job to procure items for their trip to make things go smoother in the airport. On the whole, a very quiet week at Torchwood. Ianto's eyes were drifting downwards when he spotted something unusual.

Gwen was digging around in the back pocket of her jeans with two fingers, sliding out a twenty pound note. Ianto glanced upwards to see a vacant smirk on Owen's face.

i "I'll bet twenty quid the captain doesn't let him on the next mission." /i

Ianto was not about to let Owen have that satisfaction. He cleared his throat. "Uh, sir? If I could, would it matter terribly if I asked to come along on this mission? I can't say that I've got much by the way of reports and I'd quite like to stretch my legs with a bit of field work."

At first, the simultaneous slow swing of heads with wide, blinking stares almost completely unnerved him. Owen's eyes immediately narrowed, suspecting foul play, but it was enough to remind Ianto of his purpose. When the other man opened his mouth, presumably to tell Ianto off, he continued, "And the weather's far too good to be cooped up inside the whole time, after all."

Jack looked more perplexed than angry. "Uh, no, absolutely not. You've got to get us a hotel, a car—"

"Things easily obtained before we leave. I assume it would be necessary to fetch a week's worth of clothing before leaving. Worse comes to worst, there is always the option of reserving by mobile."

"Ianto…" Jack pointed out. "…you were sick. You've got to get better, haven't you? This is not exactly the time to argue—"

"Nothing a relaxing flight wouldn't cure. I am by no means afflicted with motion sickness. It would be in my best interest to get out of the Hub for a few days at least, and in your best interest to channel my cabin fever into something productive. It certainly beats just being the tea boy, after all." And that was the closest that Ianto would come to simply saying what was bothering him.

Jack furrowed his brow, examining Ianto for the second time that day, and this time, Ianto didn't feel like melting into an unobtrusive puddle on the floor. He chanced a quick look at Gwen, and noticed her fingers had stopped with the note halfway out of the pocket.

"Jack?" Tosh asked softly.

The captain spent another minute scrutinizing the rest of his crew, lips progressively thinning. "Okay. Owen, you take care of Tosh, keep Torchwood safe. I don't like anybody alone and too far away from help."

"Jack!" Owen whined.

"Gwen, pack for a week; Ianto, do whatever you have to, so long as you get us a hotel room, a vehicle with four-wheel drive, and tickets on the next flight to the US. Tosh will get us diplomatic immunity. And Ianto?" Jack called as the Welshman had turned around to go perform his tasks.

"Yes, sir?"

"You'd better believe we're going to be talking about this later," Jack said, blue eyes flashing.

Ianto nodded humbly. "I know, sir." Not that he knew what he would say when "later" actually came, but he would have to cross that bridge when he came to it.

-----

"You have got to be shitting me. Sammy, this is not where we're staying; tell me honestly. We're not staying here, right? Sammy. I'm begging you."

Sam's eyed rolled upwards, mouth parting to reveal clenched teeth. Dean was pressed against the front passenger window of the Impala, hands and face squished against the glass. He shot a pitiful look over his shoulder in the hopes of swaying his brother's decision, but the glasses diminished some of the effect of the puppy dog eyes. Sam just shook his head and climbed out of the car. "I'm not dragging you in, Dean."

"Aw, Sammy, you love me, don't you? Your big brother?"

"It's Sam." The youngest Winchester's lips thinned into a crooked smile.

"Sammy!"

Sam shut the door firmly before Dean had a chance to plead some more. Dean could complain all he wanted, but it wouldn't keep Sam from setting up camp here for the week. Sure, he could see why his brother wasn't attracted to its natural charm, what with the black, rotten siding of the motel and the unnatural slope of the roof that suggested a horse with too much on its back. The building had missed "fixer-upper" entirely and was decomposing in the realm of "how the hell is it still standing?"

Nevertheless, Sam had a weird feeling about the place.

The passenger's door creaked open, and Sam had just turned around in time to see Dean slam it closed again. He looked for all the world like a sullen kid being forced to go to the doctor's office as his boots trundled through the dry tree debris and dust. His hands were jammed in his jeans pockets, and the face he was making was anything but friendly. He shot a dirty look up at Sam. "You better know what you're freaking doing."

He kicked at a rock before following its trajectory towards the rickety motel. Sam ran a tired hand through his hair with a small sigh. A night with a pissy Dean in too-close quarters.

There wasn't enough aspirin in the world.


	3. Chapter 2

**Title:** Dues to Pay

**Author:** Arenas

**Fandoms:** Supernatural/Torchwood

**Characters/Pairings:** All, but features Sam, Dean, Jack, Ianto specifically. Implied Jack/Ianto

**Rating:** PG-13 now for language and graphic violence

**Warnings:** Spoilers for "In My Time of Dying" (SPN) and "Cyberwoman" (TW), gory violence, slash (Jack/Ianto)

**Disclaimer:** I am but a college student who is too poor to pay for my own tuition. I own nada.

**Summary:** The Winchester brothers are sent to NJ because of another of Sam's mysterious visions, this time involving members of an elite force by the name of Torchwood and a monster that might be too powerful to handle.

**Chapter 2 **

Sam blinked tired eyes. Normally, he'd feel relatively refreshed when he woke up, but between Dean's bitching and the exceedingly itchy sheets, he felt worse than when he first lay down. It pissed him off, to be perfectly honest. He flung a weary arm over his eyes in a last attempt to ward sleep off before yawning and rocking upwards into a sitting position. When his arm finally fell into his lap again, he tried very hard to make sense of the scene around him.

Dean was nowhere to be seen and his bed was completely made up. Sam was willing to bet a lot of money that it hadn't been slept in. Considering that he had pretty much passed out cold as soon as his head impacted the lumpy pillow, it didn't completely surprise him that he missed Dean's exit.

But his absence smacked of weird; weird wasn't good as far as Sam was concerned.

He kicked his legs over the side of the bed and stretched stiff limbs before getting to his feet and stumbling to the bureau where he'd half-heartedly tossed his t-shirt the night before. He stepped into the worn sneakers he'd left by the door and took a moment to hitch his pajama bottoms slightly higher up on his waist. Then, he opened the door and stuck his head out. At first, nothing caught his attention, until a stray ray of sunlight muscled its way through the trees to reflect off the glossy black exterior of Dean's car. The sight of the Impala was promising enough, especially the boot resting against the glass of the rear passenger's side door. Closer inspection yielded Dean curled up in the back seat with a fleece blanket draped over himself.

Sam frowned, rapping on the window with his knuckles before crossing his arms to conserve some warmth against the chilly New Jersey spring. He idly scratched at his forearm as he watched Dean jerk violently before sitting up and looking around with a dopey sort of expression. The older Winchester's sleepy countenance immediately hardened into a scowl when he spotted Sam waiting outside. Dean scooted forward to unroll the window.

"I don't remember ordering a wake up call."

"I don't remember you leaving last night so you could possibly get attacked by reapers or mauled by monsters," Sam retorted.

"I can't help your sucky taste in motels. Did you even see the beds?"

"Some of us were too tired to be picky."

Dean nodded, eyeing Sam's arms tucked tight against his chest. "Really? I guess you're going to tell me that you just woke up with the chicken pox, then?"

The younger Winchester frowned at that statement, which only caused Dean's smirk to grow even wider as he eyed Sam's bare arms with open amusement. Sam glanced downwards and, with a small, strangled cry, began slapping at the large, red welts on his skin. What was worse, they itched abominably; judging by the laughter now issuing from his big brother's mouth, Dean seemed to be finding it much to his satisfaction.

"What'd I tell you?"

"Shut up, Dean, it's probably just a rash…"

"Ain't never seen a rash look like that before, and I've seen plenty. Needless to say, I didn't exactly stick around to examine 'em, but—"

"God, just shut up!" Sam resisted the immediate urge to scratch at the bright lumps on his arms, and quickly shucked his shirt off again. Sure enough, the red dots covered most of his sides, and he assumed a good deal of his back. Assuming that he had gotten them last night in the safety of his own bed, and with the knowledge that he had definitely gotten the chicken pox when he was seven years old, the only conclusion was bed bugs. The motel was infested with fucking bed bugs. "You fucking knew about the bugs and you didn't wake me up?"

"Nah," Dean grinned lazily. "You just looked so damn cute with that little thing of drool coming out of your mouth; I didn't have the heart."

"You're so damn immature, Dean."

"Look who's talking, loser. I'm not the one covered in spots."

"That's my _point_!"

"Listen, little lady, are we going to be on the road today? Because if you were still planning on doing research, you might want to take a shower, get the termites out of your clothes…that sort of thing."

Sam huffed, turning on his heel and stalking back into the room. Things really couldn't get much worse…assuming that his vision didn't come true, naturally. He would just have to buy lots of anti-itch medicated cream before the day was out, and make sure it was on Dean's tab.

--------------

"Where are we landing, Ianto?"

" Newark Liberty International Airport. We'll be landing at 3 o'clock, assuming we aren't delayed, or bothered by turbulence, or…exploded," Ianto replied promptly. The pause before "exploded" was brief, but it still elicited a curious look from Gwen. Ianto's grip merely tightened on his handbag as the trio walked quickly through Bristol International Airport.

Their gate was just ahead, something which Ianto was slightly grateful for. The sooner they were on the plane, presumably, the sooner they could get off the thing. He had placed the bill for three first class tickets to EWR on Torchwood's tab, along with an order to rent a Nissan Pathfinder, and rooms for a week in a hotel on the outskirts of the Pine Barrens. Exactly as Jack had specified.

"Now boarding first class, Flight 289 to EWR. Flight 289 to Newark Liberty International Airport now boarding first class."

Ianto checked his wristwatch. They had cut it pretty close when the SUV got caught in traffic, but they'd gained time back by simply flashing badges at the appropriate checkpoints. Things were going smoothly; Ianto hoped that it stayed that way.

"Ianto! You with us?" A sharp snap jerked Ianto back into the present. Jack's hand was floating in front of his face, and Gwen's grip on his shoulder held him still. Jack looked concerned, as evidenced by his furrowed brows. Ianto figured that it would have been touching, if not for the fact that he didn't want to be coddled right then. "Ianto?"

"Sorry, got a bit carried away, sir." He offered a shy, blushing smile that Jack obviously was not just accepting on blind faith. "We should get moving before our flight leaves without us, sir."

"Jack, we can talk on the plane," Gwen agreed. "Come on, we've not much time."

His lips thinned noticeably, but in typical Jack fashion, he allowed the mission to take first priority for the moment. "Then what are we waiting for? Lead on, Ianto."

Ianto didn't reply, more than grateful for Gwen's inadvertent support for the moment. If it had just been himself and Jack, he wasn't entirely sure that the conversation would have been delayed. Now was not the time to argue with Jack about the sort of people in his employ, not when they were still within driving distance of Torchwood. The trio made it to the gate just as the attendants began boarding the back of the plane, and Jack, Gwen and Ianto took their seats with the rest of first class. Ianto had made plenty sure that they were situated towards the back of that section to leave them some room to talk about private matters.

"Okay, so, Ianto…what was that back there? You've been acting less than your usual, bubbly self lately and I need to know you're not going to jeopardize this mission," Jack murmured as he leaned in close to Ianto, who had taken the aisle seat. Ianto closed his eyes, feeling his fingers tighten continuously around the armrest. He hoped that his face wasn't excessively red.

"I won't jeopardize it. You have my word, sir."

"Okay, Ianto, that might have worked back at Torchwood, but now you have to start talking. Perhaps we'll start with why you're so keen on this mission for starters, and then why that arm rest in your hand deserves to be squeezed that hard as a follow up. Start speaking, Ianto."

The more that Jack inquired, the hotter the back of Ianto's neck felt. "To be honest sir, I just wanted a chance to go out in the field is all. Get a bit of a stretch and see what happens on the investigation level."

"And the arm rest?"

Ianto wanted nothing more than to bury his head in his arms and avoid the question entirely, but that would mean that he was at the mercy of fate should the plane fall on its side or get swept away in an unexpected gust of wind. He could imagine many different outcomes of their taxiing to the runway, none of which were exactly pleasant, and he wanted both hands firmly wrapped about something solid. Ianto glanced over at Jack who was still pinning him with an intense stare, and decided that there were some things that just could not be avoided where Jack was concerned.

"I, um….afraid of flying, sir. Can't be helped, really. I'll be fine once we land."

Jack's stern gaze flickered for a moment, as though it were merely a hologram. Then, the expression seemed to melt into a perplexed and slightly pitying look. "Ianto…if I remember correctly, it was established that there would be flying before you volunteered. You even promised not to get sick. This does not, despite any possible misconceptions you might have had, inspire confidence in me."

"I won't get sick; I'm afraid, not nauseated," Ianto replied harshly. "Why wait until there's something in our backyard? It may be too late then, something bigger than you'd be willing to let me participate in." He could feel the plane backing up, and the attendants were already starting the safety routine. The safety routine meant to keep you alive should the plane fall out of the sky. He noticed that they did it as soon as the plane started moving, and not before or once they were in the sky. Oh God, what if another jet collided with them on the runway?

A large hand covered Ianto's white-knuckled fist and began stroking it with the thumb. Ianto peeked out of slitted eyes to see Jack watching him while his hand continued to engulf his own in a comforting manner.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Jack murmured. Ianto merely trembled in his chair, eyes squeezed shut again. When the plane beneath their feet began to rumble from the spooling of the engines, Ianto's lip wormed its way between his teeth. When the jet began to trundle down the runway, Jack tapped Ianto on the shoulder, proffering a handkerchief to the paranoid Welshman. It took two more taps and a gentle slap on the cheek for Ianto to open his eyes. At his questioning look, Jack quirked an eyebrow. "I don't know about you, but it's probably better if you bite this."

The lip began to slide outwards slowly, his rueful smile becoming greener as the plane sped up. Jack held the wadded cloth up for Ianto to take and, five minutes later, the ground fell away beneath them. Ianto was taking deep, even breaths, but the handkerchief in his mouth was now dangling uselessly from slackened jaws. He'd, thankfully, passed out.

Gwen leaned over, careful not to disturb Ianto. "Did you know he was afraid of flying?" she whispered. Jack merely shrugged with a small shake of the head, earning an unhappy look from Gwen. He didn't really blame her; he could even imagine the way her thoughts were running. That didn't mean that Jack was in any position to put her at ease, though—that was Ianto's job.

-----------------------

"Sam, it's not a reaper. Reapers don't eat people," Dean groaned. Sam fought not to look at his brother, who was now fidgeting in his seat for the umpteenth time. Dean had been anything but helpful the past half hour between the squirming, the feet that kept kicking him beneath the table, and other such distractions. Not to mention the fact that Dean's inability to sit still only reminded Sam of the itch cream that they had yet to purchase.

"Dean, there's no harm in looking for suspicious deaths," Sam replied coldly.

"Maybe not, but for three hours, Sam?"

"Why don't you get a hooker or something? Just stop fidgeting."

"I'd be sorely tempted if they had more than three teeth between 'em and they didn't stink of cow shit."

"Dean!"

"Wasn't tired last night, so I went cruising." He shrugged absently, while Sam resisted the urge to bury his head in his neon red arms. Dean kicked his feet onto the chair beside Sam and raised his arms behind his head. "Find any suspicious tourist deaths yet?"

Sam sighed. "No. I don't think I will, either."

"So why are we wasting our time with this?"

"Because, Dean," Sam replied, trying to ignore the sheepish tone his voice had adopted, "it's better than just waiting for it to find us."

Dean quirked an eyebrow at Sam's confession. The youngest Winchester returned to the archives; Dean remained quiet for a full five minutes before he opened his mouth again.

"Hey, Sam…did you get a look at the monster?"

"Uh…" Sam ran a weary hand through his hair to corral the stray wisps back in place on his head. After a blank moment, he nodded, turning back to Dean. "Yeah. Yeah I did. It was pretty big; six, maybe seven feet tall. Big, leathery wings, um…long tail with a kind of scythe on the end. It kinda looked like a dragon or something, except it had this massive…huge mouth in its chest. It pretty much just pounced on this person and…ate him."

"Did it have hooves?"

"It might've, why?" 

"Because I think I know what's doing this. And it's i not /i reapers." Dean pinned his brother with a dry smirk, just waiting for Sam to say it. The younger brother cocked his head, his mouth working to form coherent words, until Dean waggled his eyebrow. A huff and a roll of the eyes later, Sam relented.

"So, Dean. What will kill these people?"

Dean grinned. "An excellent question, my compadre. The answer, you see, is simple." He paused for effect, but it only caused Sam's glare to grow even more caustic. "It is none other than the Jersey Devil."

"Dean!" Sam protested, earning himself a hissing shush from the closest librarian. He scowled irritably, returning to the conversation at hand. If his lips thinned any further, they were in grave danger of disappearing entirely. "Dean, that thing doesn't kill humans, it only heralds death. This thing _ate _the guy."

"So? Myths evolve, it's not unheard of. Besides, dragon head, I assume horns. Cloven feet, leather wings…when it pounced, it landed on its hind feet, right?"

"I…I guess…"

Dean nodded confidently, smug look already seeping across his face. He spread his arms wide. " Jersey Devil."

"How do you explain the mouth thing then? The Jersey Devil's got a normal face, normal mouth, everything. What I saw didn't have much of a neck to speak of."

"Evoluuution," Dean crooned. He straightened in his seat, folding his arms across his chest once more and shrugging. "Maybe it just pounces people so it can rip them apart, not necessarily eat them. Did you get a good look of it doing the munching?"

"Yeah, I did, Dean." Sam could still clearly see the attack in his mind whenever he called it up, and it still made him want to vomit. Sometimes, he thought he'd seen it all; he sort of wished he had. "When it jumped on the guy, half of him disappeared into this thing's chest. Either…he fell into a black hole or there was an orifice there. And I saw teeth when it…dropped what was left."

Dean frowned thoughtfully before his shoulders migrated upwards again. "It's not unheard of for legends to change. Maybe this one just grew teeth."

The explanation was sort of plausible just based solely on the drawings of the Devil that had been in their father's journal. There were similarities, but…it just didn't sit right in his gut. It didn't feel like just your average devil; Sam wasn't even sure what an "average" devil was supposed to feel like, but the guy had been brutally bitten in half. There was nothing in the stories that related attacks on humans, and most of the stories had the devil being chased away in the end. No, there was more to the creature than just the Jersey Devil, but he'd never be able to convince his brother of that. Dean was the sort that needed to see to believe, and the only evidence Sam had was Jack and shit. Unfortunately, Jack had already left town.

"So…" he mused aloud, trying to drag Dean onto his train of thought. "Do we hunt it? Are you supposed to kill a legend like that? _How _do you kill a legend like that?"

A grin split Dean's face, showing off many of his shining teeth. "Lots of rock salt."

Sam sighed, his gloomy mood growing even darker because of his brother's blind optimism. But…damned if it wasn't infectious. A small smile tilted the corner of his mouth upwards. "I think we're gonna have to do a little bit better than that. Let's get to a grocery store, huh? I need itch cream."

The older Winchester chuckled as he pushed himself to his feet. "Dude, come on. We're going hunting tonight."

**Shout outs: Kesomon: **You know, I've always hoped I was an alien, but I fail at luck. Glad you're enjoying the story!


	4. Chapter 3

**Title:** Dues to Pay

**Author:** Arenas

**Fandoms:** Supernatural/Torchwood

**Characters/Pairings:** All, but features Sam, Dean, Jack, Ianto specifically. Implied Jack/Ianto

**Rating:** PG-13 now for language and graphic violence

**Warnings:** Spoilers for "In My Time of Dying" (SPN) and "Cyberwoman" (TW), gory violence, slash (Jack/Ianto)

**Disclaimer:** I am but a college student who is too poor to pay for my own tuition. I own nada.

**Summary:** The Winchester brothers are sent to NJ because of another of Sam's mysterious visions, this time involving members of an elite force by the name of Torchwood and a monster that might be too powerful to handle.

**Chapter 3 **

Gwen had won the single bedroom, leaving Ianto alone with Jack. He supposed that it might have been better if he had been left to himself—just so he wouldn't scare them anymore—but Ianto didn't think he would have gotten that option regardless of who won the room. Not after his display on the plane. Though, it was hard to say who was the worse babysitter: Gwen, who was being too sympathetic, or Jack, who was acting like a worried mum.

Of course…that was before he and Jack were left alone in their suite. The captain sat on the windowsill in that weary way that was supposed to alert Ianto to some sort of a lengthy heart-to-heart chat. So he seated himself on the slightly lumpy sofa, hands folded neatly in his lap while he waited for the shoe to fall. In the mean time, conversation would not be instigated, and neither would eye contact be made.

It was a long time that the pair sat in their positions without talking. So much so, that Ianto almost believed that Jack had declined to say anything at all; Ianto would not at all be averse to going to bed early, even if the clock did only read 6 PM. He licked dry lips, ready to get to his feet when Jack finally spoke.

"I'm not going to ask you what logic you used when you decided you wanted to come on this mission because you're going to lie to me anyway—"

"No, sir," Ianto protested, but Jack raised his hand.

"—let me finish. I want you safe, Ianto. I want to know that at the end of the day, no matter how hard it got, there are still some people I was able to protect. Call it selfish if you like, but…" he sighed then, eyes finally focusing directly on the dark-haired man's face. "Ianto, I don't care if you hate flying, I just need to know you're going to be okay with this."

Ianto nodded weakly, practically feeling the sadness rolling off the captain. "I'll be fine. It's just an investigation, sir. Nothing dangerous—"

Jack jumped down from the sill and knelt in front of Ianto to catch his hands in his own large ones. Those familiar blue eyes were dilated and wide with intensity. "Ianto, that is exactly the kind of attitude that could get you killed. If it deals with the Rift, it's _always_ dangerous. Always. The minute you let your guard down, you leave yourself open to anything. I won't lose you, Ianto."

"Then why did you let me come?"

The snapped response was followed by Ianto drawing into himself again in the hopes of escaping the conversation. He was even beginning to feel sick again, as though he'd left his stomach on the plane. The simple bloody request just to be one of the team was worrying Jack, which in turn bothered Ianto. It hurt to see the pain and scandal in those cerulean orbs, especially when Jack reached out and pulled Ianto's face closer to his own so that their foreheads touched.

"Because I trust you."

The rough, calloused hand gently threaded through Ianto's dark hair, but Jack's lips ghosting over his own was slightly more attention-grabbing. The breath condensing on the tip of his nose, his lips, his cheeks…Ianto barely noticed the hot rush of blood in his cheeks. When Jack finally pressed his lips chastely to Ianto's, most of his nausea had seeped away, and he felt stronger, safer and was in a saner state of mind, despite the suddenness of the cuddling.

"Feeling better?" Jack whispered. Ianto merely nodded tamely, eyelids slipping closed. Jack continued to press kisses to every bit of exposed skin, including the insides of Ianto's wrists and the side of his neck. The warmth of Jack's body so close to the dark-haired man's did more to comfort him than anything thus far. Within five minutes, Ianto was passed out, Jack's arms wrapped protectively around him.

------------

The low-lying branches from a set of bushes rustled again; Sam leaped backward, the sawed-off shotgun and weak flashlight beam whipping about to aim at the leaves. His lungs were working double time just to keep up with his heart. If Dean were still close by, he, no doubt, would be busy taunting Sam all the way back to the car. Thankfully—or not, he mused—Dean was stalking the thing several yards away.

The leaves brushed together again. This time, Sam picked up a stick to gently draw the branches away when it happened. An inhuman shriek rang out, dropping Sam to his knees with his hands clamped over his ears in agony. He barely had the presence of mind to roll away as a vicious claw swiped at the ground where he was. Fire lanced across his calf where the monster had dug its claws into the muscle.

He tried to twist around to see his adversary and only managed to see the flash of saliva-slicked teeth in the shine of his flashlight. He tried kicking out, if only to dislodge the claw out of his leg, but the demon seemed to just hold on tighter. The mouth descended on his leg, and, when Sam felt the needles stabbing into his flesh, he yelled in pain.

"Sammy!"

"Dean!"

Dean leaped out of the trees, shotgun already trained on the beast. Two blasts echoed throughout the forest, but the thing barely stopped long enough to glare balefully at the pair of them. Sam shouted again when the teeth ground closer together and kicked it in the snout with the heel of his shoe. Unfortunately, his struggles only served to tire him out—he couldn't even hear Dean's screams or the explosion of the shotgun anymore. The only things that seemed to register in his frazzled mind was his own heavy breathing and the whining growl of the creature as it slobbered and gnawed on his leg.

It was _watching_ him.

Sam exhaled, all the tension in his muscles gone as it stared at him with those dark red eyes. It was like waking up in the morning and realizing that it never got any better. You lived until you died, and, as the beast watched Sam Winchester with its furious eyes, Sam knew that he was going to die. It was useless to fight the thing anymore. You couldn't escape death.

He glanced upwards wearily, eyes rolling up in his skull. He frowned slightly, noticing something odd about the ceiling of trees: there seemed to be a woman looking down at him with a sympathetic look. But…how did she get there? What was wrong with her face?

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

"Sam," he croaked.

She smiled gently. "You weren't supposed to get involved, Sammy," she murmured. "I'm sorry."

"It doesn't hurt." Sam believed that he ought to be more concerned about the lack of sensation in his body, but a stray glance at the mangled limb soon convinced him otherwise. No, he felt calm; things were going to be okay once the monster finished its business. The woman was going to make sure of that because she'd even said that he wasn't meant to be involved.

"That's right, Sammy; it feels nice, doesn't it?"

He watched her, unable to do much else. The warm feeling was fogging up his mind and interrupting his thought processes. It felt all right, but there was something missing. Vaguely, he felt his arms being tugged on; Sam supposed that it might be Dean pulling him away from the monster.

Dean!

"Don't fight it," the woman whispered. "It will all be over soon." In that moment, Sam realized just what was wrong with her. Her face was normal, but beneath it, Sam could catch glimpses of something else, as though what he was seeing was nothing but a horrible mask. The eyes rarely lined up, but when they did, he caught sight of something older than time and more terrifying than anything he had ever hunted.

It was Death. He was looking into the eyes of a Reaper.

Sam began to flail, fight for any purchase he could gain, but he knew that it was far too late now. He'd fucked up. "Dean…!"

"Ssh, Sammy."

"Dean, help me!"

The beast's jaws opened wide and descended upon him. The Reaper disappeared, but the fog grew thicker and overwhelmed him, leaving him more than comfortably numb. All Sam knew was darkness and stinking breath.

Ianto shot upright, panting heavily. Jack let out a grunt when he fell off Ianto's shoulder and onto the couch, but the Welshman was too disturbed to notice. The dream—was it just a dream?—had been too real; he could still feel the moist breath—it had to have been Jack's, didn't it?—on his face and the slick of drool—hopefully just his own—on his chin.

"Ianto!"

"I saw a Reaper!"

"What?" Jack's hair was mussed from sleeping on it, and he still looked slightly disheveled from the impromptu nap. Ianto took a deep breath, trying to ignore just how much he wanted to forget it all and crawl back onto the couch with Jack; but he had to explain himself, so he had to suppress the urge to worry his lip for a bit longer.

"Sir, we must go to Woodbury. It's not far away, and if we leave now, we could prevent an accident."

"What are you talking about, an accident? Ianto—"

"Sir, please trust me!" Ianto shouted, close to losing it completely. "We must get to Woodbury, New Jersey before a man is killed!"

Jack held his hands up to ward off any more protests. "Ianto, no. Listen, I know you're kind of freaking out about this mission. In fact, you're freaking out a lot—"

"If you won't come with me, sir, I'll go alone. I know what I saw; I know that it will happen tonight." Ianto's frown deepened as Jack's eyes grew progressively colder. Sure, he was the Captain, but he had said it himself: Torchwood was in the business of saving people.

"If you leave," Jack said quietly, "I won't save you. You've gotta stand up for yourself."

"I'm willing to take that chance, sir."

Jack's jaw tensed, as though he intended to fight back and prevent Ianto's leaving. The black-haired man stood his ground. A minute later, Jack stood up stiffly and strode into the bathroom. When the door banged closed, Ianto exhaled the pent up air in his lungs, snatched the keys from the table by the door and left.

------------

The forest was relatively open; Sam could see a good distance through the tree cover. Dean was at least fifty yards away and out of sight in his hunt for the creature, but Sam thought that he could occasionally catch glimpses of his brother's flashlight when they drifted closer together. Good; that meant that they'd probably be able to see the Devil before it attacked. When hunting demons, every bit of help was appreciated.

Dead needles rustled to his right, as though something heavy was being dragged through the bed of mulch underfoot. He stepped carefully, trying not to disturb any of the leaves as he swept the flashlight back and forth. The leaves didn't seem to have been bothered; there were no tracks to suggest an animal had been there.

Sam swiped at his forehead, rearranging some of the stray strands, and licked his lips. He pressed forward, ignoring the fact that he was traveling further away from Dean and possibly into trouble. There was something over here; Sam had heard it.

The undergrowth was growing denser, and it was becoming harder to navigate. He brought the shotgun—it was loaded with shells filled with rock salt—from his side upwards until he could aim it wherever his flashlight pointed. Sam still felt nervous. The more the trees pressed in on him, the more anxious he became.

"This is stupid," he muttered, needing to hear something even vaguely resembling reassurance. It was then that Sam Winchester realized that he couldn't hear anything at all. No chattering of angry squirrels and rodents, no birds calling. Even the small breeze seemed to have died off. Normal people would consider this a bad sign; Sam counted it as a mixed blessing. The monster had to be incredibly close now. He took another step forward into the trees.

A strange, high-pitched sound began to resonate in his eardrums. It sounded vaguely like a growl, but it was too grating. As he was puzzling out what sort of animal might make a sound like that—besides a dying car—he heard the rustling again, now closer than before. He could even see some of the leaves rattling within the beam of his flashlight. Suddenly, the leaves stilled; the whining stopped.

Sam took a deep breath, stuck the flashlight in his mouth, and bent over to feel for a long branch to poke open a hole in the foliage. Thankfully, his mouth didn't shake the flashlight, unlike the hand pointing the shotgun at the underbrush. His free hand had just closed about a reasonably dry, firm branch, when the pounding began.

Footsteps: heavy, clunky ones that didn't care for stealth. They were attacking.

He jumped upwards, swinging the shotgun in the direction of the threat, teeth clenched firmly around the flashlight barrel. Before he knew it, a man came flying out of the trees and tackled him to the ground. At that point, the creature leaped out of the underbrush, mouth snapping closed on the spot where Sam's head had been seconds before.

"Come, get up, we've got to run!" the man gasped, not looking as though he were up for any further running at the moment. Nevertheless, Sam couldn't argue, what with the Jersey Devil shaking itself off just feet away. He hopped to his feet, grabbed the flashlight that had popped out of his mouth, and fired several shots at the demon before turning and hightailing it back the way he came. The man was hot on his heels, though Sam could hear the laboured breathing over their footsteps.

"Dean!" Sam swept the area with the flashlight, hoping for any sign of the smug git. He could already hear the flapping of wings overhead and knew that, at the rate the stranger was falling behind, the Devil would catch them sooner rather than later. Now was the time for action.

He skidded to a halt, checking quickly to make sure that the branches arching above them were barely thick enough to prevent the thing from diving at them and subsequently chomping them to bits. The man looked all too happy to be able to take a break, his beet-red face a testament to how tired he was. Up above, the branches quaked from the sound of the devil screeching. Sam glanced at the stranger, who was wearing a suit and looking awfully familiar. It was the man the Sam had watched die only a few days ago.

"Listen, you're Ianto Jones, right?" The dark-haired man glanced upward, jaw dropping open in confusion, but Sam waved his protests off. "I'll explain later. Ianto, we've gotta outsmart this thing and find my brother. He's shorter than me, spiky hair—"

"I know!" Ianto cried. "I've seen you; you're Sam Winchester! That's how I knew to save you!"

It was Sam's turn feel completely perplexed, but the screech of the Jersey Devil gave him just enough presence of mind not to question Ianto. "Okay, this is what we're gonna do. Rock salt doesn't seem to hurt it, but I'm willing to bet holy water might. I know there's a lake nearby and we've gotta lead that—" He paused to point skyward. "—to it. I've gotta bless it first, okay? Meaning you've gotta distract it."

"B-but what could I—"

Sam dug around in his pocket for the extra shells to reload the gun in his hand. "I hope you know how to reload; I don't exactly have time to tell you. If you run out, just keep running. I'll yell for you when it's ready, okay?" Sam dumped the rest of the shells in Ianto's hands and held out the gun and flashlight. "I'll be quick."

Ianto nodded weakly as Sam ran away in an easterly direction. He'd never handled a shot gun before, but he supposed that if ever there was a time to find out, this would be it. He began waving the flashlight at the canopy above him, running towards the areas where the trees began to thin. His legs were growing weaker though; he hoped Sam would hurry with whatever ritual needed to be done.

The beam flashed over black skin, and reflected off a red, staring eye. Suddenly, Ianto wasn't so sure about being a hero anymore.

The creature dove through the trees, ignoring the slap of branches and sticks on its hide. The Welshman backpedaled backwards as fast as he could, the shotgun held feebly before him. His brain was screaming to raise it and fire, but, between the jelly-like quality of his muscles and the terror that was overtaking most of his thoughts, his body was making it very difficult to function on any advanced level.

_No one can help you now, Ianto. You're in the woods, alone. Find your own way out._

As though it had a mind of its own, the gun in his sweaty palms seemed to rearrange itself until it was pointed squarely between the beast's eyes. His finger squeezed the trigger, though he hadn't told it to. When the shell hit its target, Ianto almost imagined that Jack was behind him, ready to slap him on the back in congratulations, eyes reflecting joy and amusement. In fact, the creature barely slowed its descent, just jerking its head in an attempt to clear the charred salt from its eyes. Ianto dropped the gun and flashlight, turned around, and began running in earnest.

"Ianto! IANTO!"

He nearly cried in relief when he heard Sam's voice, and it didn't even sound that far away. The Welshman veered towards the voice, the hope alone giving him enough adrenalin to pick up speed. The creature screamed as the forest began to grow dense again.

"Ianto!"

"Where are you?" Ianto gasped out. He severely doubted that his voice would carry when nearly all of his oxygen was being used for running, so all he could do was wheeze and pray that Sam was closer than he sounded.

"Ianto, I can hear you; follow my voice!"

He didn't have any more air to waste in a reply. All that could be heard was the creature winging along behind him. Even his pounding footsteps were muffled and quiet in comparison. Ianto chanced a look behind him, and instantly regretted it. The forefinger on the demon's right wing was aimed outwards, and looked to be trying to slash at Ianto's retreating figure with every wing stroke. So intense was his fear that Ianto failed to notice the tree root that jutted up from the earth and snagged his shoe. It took seconds for him to fall on his face, but it was long enough for the demon to shoot past on its own momentum.

His nose was afire, and he was choking on something that wasn't dirt. Rolling weakly onto his side, Ianto felt a gush of liquid roll down his lip and cheek to pool on the earth below him. He supposed that his nose must have been broken in the fall, and he was possibly suffering from other injuries as well. But the most sobering thought of all was the fact that, had he been upright for much longer, the creature would have caught him and eaten him. A sob tore its way out of his throat as he curled up into the foetal position and buried his face in his arms.

---------------

Sam heard the Devil flying before he saw it. Unfortunately, he didn't hear someone running along ahead of it, and that could only mean one thing.

"Ianto…" he whispered, mouth parting in dread.

The demon screeched, and, before the young hunter knew it, it broke through the trees with its hind legs flung forward, wings spread wide. Sam cried out, stumbling away from the mouth and claws and scrambling towards the lake. The scream pierced his eardrums again, but he didn't slow down. Moments later, he could hear the wings powering up and launching the creature through the air.

_Not long now, just a little more. Not long. Almost there. Almost…crouch! Crouch now!_ The path opened up wide onto a beach with soft, loose sand. His shoes immediately began filling with the stuff when he skidded to a stop and ducked below the Devil's limbs, but Sam didn't notice. As soon as the demon had cleared Sam's head, he leaped upwards to latch onto the Devil's hind legs.

It screamed again, trying to crane its head downwards to catch sight of its new load. His teeth bared, the youngest Winchester began rocking and thrashing to throw the demon's flight off. It wasn't until Sam began kicking upwards into the beast's soft belly that the thing began to falter. One more vicious strike to the demon's sternum, and the massive wings folded, sending them both plunging into the lake.

**Shout outs: Kesomon:** Yup! Another shout out for you. Who knows, it might be the Devil...but it might not. But it might be! **Lana Aurelius: **Thanks for the comments! Ianto, with a bit of luck, will be okay. He just needs a bit of love. **Mistress of the Knight: **Aw, thanks! Not many people usually make it out to the crossover side of Glad you approve. **Linderhill: **Haha, was it that obvious? The Devil's a mean, mean creature. Thanks for the review!


	5. Chapter 4

**Title:** Dues to Pay

**Author:** Arenas

**Fandoms:** Supernatural/Torchwood

**Characters/Pairings:** All, but features Sam, Dean, Jack, Ianto specifically. Implied Jack/Ianto

**Rating:** PG-13 now for language and graphic violence

**Warnings:** Spoilers for "In My Time of Dying" (SPN) and "Cyberwoman" (TW), gory violence, slash (Jack/Ianto)

**Disclaimer:** I'm poor. I'm wicked poor, like…so wicked poor I don't own nada.

**Summary:** The Winchester brothers are sent to NJ because of another of Sam's mysterious visions, this time involving members of an elite force by the name of Torchwood and a monster that might be too powerful to handle.

**Chapter 4**

For the life of him, Dean could not find his brother. Sure, Sammy was a bit of a bitch when it came to pranks and the whole bedbug thing was pretty funny, but to ignore Dean completely on a hunt? That wasn't like Sammy. When the screaming and yelling started, Dean figured that it was about time to go in and kick some monster ass.

He'd found the place okay; half the branches were destroyed and the leaves were kicked up everywhere, but no Sammy. He'd followed the trail—realized that there had been two people running—and followed it to a sort of clearing where, yet again, Sammy did not make an appearance. When Dean had found the shotgun, well, he had gotten more than a bit pissed.

"Christ, Sammy, where the hell are you?" he yelled, brows furrowing in anger. He hadn't heard many sounds since his first initial tip off, and he wouldn't put it past his brother to want some kind of revenge for this morning. After all, where'd the other person come from? People didn't just randomly appear in a forest, and it wasn't as though someone couldn't just make that shrieking up. But honestly, Sammy had more taste than to do this on a freaking _hunt_. "Sammy!"

He followed the trail that went into the thinner parts of the woods, ignoring the other set of tracks for now. It was in Dean's nature to keep the shotgun out and loaded, just in case he was caught by surprise, but it wasn't trained in front of him or constantly sweeping left and right. After all, he hadn't seen hide nor hair of Sammy's monster all night; he was pretty confident that it wouldn't show now.

Dean had just walked around a rock when he stepped on something slightly squishy. He jumped backwards when he heard something whimper, and just had the presence of mind to look downwards. The rock was wearing a suit and looked to have a broken nose, not to mention the hand that was now cradled close to its chest. Dean knelt down, giving the man a brief look over.

"What happened? You see my brother running around here? He's freaky tall, has longish hair that makes him look like a preppy, has green eyes?" 

The guy shivered. "He…he blessed the lay-kuh. Said somefin' aboud holy wadder. The demon addacked us."

"Where? Where did he go?" Dean snapped. He was suddenly very, very close to picking the punk up and shaking the answers out of him. The stranger pointed weakly towards the left where the woods turned into a path. 

"He dold me do disdracd id. Gave me the gun but I couldn' sdop id." The guy looked at least a little broken up over whatever happened. If Sammy was dead because of that little rat bastard, there would be some serious hell to pay. Dean stood up, lifting the stranger by the shoulders. He wanted the guy beside him so that Dean could throttle him later if the need arose. To his credit, he didn't even argue, merely followed after Dean as they set out on the path.

Dean wanted to travel at a run, and he only settled for a lope because it was soon clear that the guy was not up to much more than an ambling stroll. But now that he was on Dean's time, and Dean was not going to take that shit: not from a pussy who might've gotten Sammy killed. "Come on, bitch!"

There was the distinct tang of water in the air now; Dean considered it a possibly good, possibly bad sign. For a short moment, Dean wondered what would happen if they didn't find Sammy alive and well. He wondered whether he'd lose it and go bat-shit crazy, or—the scarier option in Dean's opinion—just give up, resigned to live a lonely life without any family to speak of. He quickly killed that thought and pressed on until his boots hit the moonlit sand. The stranger fell to his knees behind him, but Dean didn't give a damn. He didn't see Sammy.

"Sammy! Stop swimming and get over here!"

There was no answer. Dean couldn't even hear splashing or any sort of noise associated with people in water. He frowned, jaw tightening as he swallowed thickly.

"Dammit, Sammy! This isn't funny!

For Christ's sake, where was he? Dean had promised his father that he'd take care of Sammy. He couldn't take care of his brother if the jerk was being stubborn and hiding out of spite. When he finally found Sammy, Dean was going to hit him so hard—

"Okay, Sammy, you got me. I'm scared. You got me back for this morning; just get your ass out here so I can kill you!"

"I…I don' thin-kuh he made id," the guy whispered. Dean heard the sentence, but he wasn't listening. He was too busy trying to hear any sort of splashing or paddling of water. Sam wasn't dead. He couldn't be. No, he was Dean's responsibility and he was not dead.

"Sammy, come on!" Dean shouted, cursing himself when his voice cracked. For fuck's sake, he wasn't twelve anymore. Sammy was going to ream him for that. If he ever came out of hiding, that was. "Where are you?"

-------------------

Ianto felt as though there was a hole in his chest that was slowly collapsing upon itself. He'd tried so hard—he'd disobeyed Jack!—to save the other man, and it hadn't been enough. Sam was dead and his brother was being less than helpful. Ianto was tempted to jump up, leave the forest and return to the hotel. A last look at Dean Winchester, who was still begging with the silent lake, changed Ianto's mind. He couldn't just leave the man alone and looking for a dead brother, but he didn't just want to sit there and listen to the disheartened yelling. Ianto crawled to his feet and shuffled over towards a stand of birch trees that were clinging to the edge of the bank where the sand turned into soil again. He wasn't feeling optimistic, but it was better than waiting for the other man to face reality. He had the idea that his broken nose would not thank him when that happened.

The water was just as still over here; Ianto had little hope of finding Sam now. He sighed, feeling his stomach bottom out. Why had he even bothered? Obviously, the man was doomed to begin with, or he wouldn't have died, and Ianto had just put himself on rocky ground with Jack for no reason. He didn't even need recognition for his deed; just the knowledge that Sam Winchester was alive would have been more than enough. If Ianto hadn't paid attention to the dream, would the other man still be alive right now? 

Ianto groaned, trying to pry himself away from that train of destruction. He'd already done enough of that for Lisa. Ianto—once they'd found the body—would return to the room and face Jack, who would probably confine him to the rooms until the investigation was over. They would return to Cardiff and it would be life as usual for Ianto Jones: tea boy. The sad part was that Ianto wasn't sure that he minded anymore.

His legs gave out beneath him; his bum hit the sand, causing the air to whoosh out of his lungs. Ianto buried his head in his arms and waited for Sam's brother to come and beat him to death.

------------------

Jack's fist clenched and unclenched in a methodical way. His eyes rarely moved, let alone blinked. He'd let Ianto go, and he had no idea how he was supposed to feel. Proud that Ianto was getting a backbone? Annoyed for the same reason? Lonely? That was it. Jack was lonely.

This was different than losing the Doctor, Jack admitted that. The Doctor at least had honestly thought that Jack was dead—hell, he had been dead—when the Time Lord left in his TARDIS. Ianto…Ianto left because of a dream, and Jack had sworn that he wouldn't save his friend and lover. If that didn't make him feel like shit, Jack didn't know what would. Not that he could exactly save Ianto if he wanted to—and he did want to—because Ianto had taken the SUV.

Jack settled back, hands absently massaging the rough fabric of the couch. He wanted to be angry, but he really just wanted Ianto back.

--------------------

Sam gasped. There was something in his throat; he couldn't breathe. His eyes were leaking tears as he felt as though it were trying to hack up an egg. Sam somehow wound up on his side, dry heaving into the reeds beside him. God, it hurt so bad. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and jammed two fingers down his throat.

A minute later, the stink of hydrochloric acid mingled with murky swamp assaulted his nostrils, but he no longer hurt quite so bad. Sure, there were the fang and claw marks that burned all over his body, but he'd almost grown used to that pain. Nevertheless, he needed to rest before he went back to find Ianto. Sam felt incredibly tired, and it probably had something to do with his epic battle and the swim that followed. Frankly, Sam no longer cared about the demon. And Ianto, well…Sam didn't want to admit it, but he was probably dead. Sam was on his own on this one.

Time passed, he wasn't sure how much, but he got the distinct impression that the pads of his fingers had wrinkled. Sam shook his head, unable to help the small smile that took over his features. Even Dean couldn't refute that that was a weird thing to think about after nearly drowning to death.

Sam blinked. Dean. He'd forgotten about Dean.

He scrambled upright only to fall back down into the brackish water with a yell. His right ankle had buckled under his weight, and it still smarted. Sam snarled, getting back up on his hands and knees to get a look around. The beach seemed deserted; not even the sand had evidence of footprints. Where the hell was Dean?

His foot refused to work, forcing Sam to crawl up the beach before collapsing in the sand. The groan that was wrenched from his throat was weak, even in his own ears. At this rate, he was never getting back to the Impala on his own, not unless he had a couple days to rest and some painkillers for his foot. He guessed that he'd twisted it when he'd landed in the water; it was as reasonable an explanation as any.

While Sam was resting and gathering his strength for another attempt at getting up, Dean rounded the trunk of the willow overlooking the lake. The moment Dean noticed him lying on the beach, Dean dropped his gear and pelted towards Sam's prostrate form, barely stopping short of trampling his little brother. The ranting that was spilling from Dean's mouth was coming too fast for Sam to catch, but the gist was enough.

Callused hands on his arm were rolling him over to sit him up and were none too gentle about it. Wounds that had been drying off and cooling down relit into an uncomfortable flame along his body. Sam grimaced, and Dean eased up on some of the roughness, but the mounting pain began churning what little was left in his stomach. And Dean was _still_ yelling at him.

"Christ, Sammy, thirty minutes! If Dad were here, he'd beat the crap out of you for pulling this."

Sam frowned, his mouth pulling into a wince when a series of scratches on his face began to hurt as well. "Dean, it's Sam; I'm not a kid anymore. I was passed out. It's not like I wouldn't have answered you if I could have, but I couldn't exactly just wake up and say 'Here I am.'"

"You coulda tried harder!"

"Dude, chill," Sam grumbled. Dean's hand on his shoulders kept him steady enough that he was no longer worried about tipping over and the nausea was ebbing. Soon enough, he'd be able to consider moving, assuming that Dean helped instead of being an ass. The way he was going on, there was no guarantee of that.

"Sammy, you're covered in leeches! Dammit, I can't take my eye off you for a minute, can I? What the hell—"

"What?" Sam brought a tentative hand up to his neck and immediately felt two squishy lumps on his neck. He groaned in disgust. Sam absolutely despised leeches. He glanced at Dean, hoping that his expression conveyed the right amount of pleading for Dean to stop his moaning and offer a hand. What Sam noticed reminded him that no matter how weird or bad things got, he wouldn't have traded his brother for anything in the world.

Dean still looked pissed off about the whole ordeal. Pissed that Sam hadn't said anything for thirty minutes and had possibly planned the whole thing. With Dean this irrationally angry, he must have been scared shitless. Sam lowered his gaze, trying to remind himself to thank Dean later. But now, all Sam was concerned with was finding Ianto's body, contacting his family, and getting out of the forest. Dean finally went quiet, having run out of things to say,

"Wanna help me up?" Sam asked.

A hand reached down and gripped Sam's hand firmly before hauling him bodily upwards. He had almost made the same mistake of trying to catch himself on his right ankle before he remembered that it was out of commission. Sam thrust an arm out to grip Dean's shoulder before he fell on his face, managing stay upright with only the smallest of wobbles. Setting his foot down gingerly, he realized that he was missing a shoe as well. He could see a leech pulsing and undulating on top of his foot.

He blacked out seconds later.

----------------

Dean wasn't expecting his brother to pass out. He had been planning on a bit of preening for showing Sammy who was in charge when his brother just lost all his motor skills. Dean was dumped to the ground with Sammy landing on top of him, an elbow somehow planting itself in Dean's chest. A few choice curses later, he shoved Sammy off and rolled onto his stomach to push himself to his feet. His chest was freaking sore. 

"Next time, I'm the one who gets to elbow you," Dean groaned, rubbing the tender spot on his skin. He glanced down at Sammy, trying to figure out how to move him. He was too tall, and too awkward to get through the woods by himself…then Dean remembered the stranger. Dean smirked a bit, flashing teeth at his unconscious brother. "Don't go anywhere, I'll be back in a flash."

He jogged back down the beach where he'd last seen the emo guy sulking in the sand. Sure enough, emo guy was still there, his head stuck in his arms. Dean wondered if he was a cutter.

"Hey, you! Bitch! Get over here!" Dean yelled, hoping to alert the dude, or wake him up, or whatever. He seemed to respond well to being yelled at, and it didn't seem right to change tactics yet. Not until Dean was sure the guy was dead or just ignoring him. Given the fact that the stranger seemed to be curling up tighter, Dean was more inclined to think the latter. Time to up the ante with death threats.

"If you don't help me lift Sammy and carry him back to my car, I'm gonna shoot you. I know you'd probably enjoy the attention, but listen up, emo guy: it's kinda hard to be happy when you're dead."

Emo guy looked up, a dirty look on his face. Dean stared him down, not in the least bit intimidated. He had to admit though, he was rather impressed that the dude didn't look away.

"I wouldn'd be much help if you killed me," emo guy snapped. He got to his feet, brushed the sand off his suit and began to wander over. Dean wished he'd clear the sand out of his vagina too, but that might be a long shot at this rate. He walked slowly to give the stranger time to catch up before speeding up to a trot.

"Listen, I don't know who you are or why you're here. I'm not interested," Dean said. "Sammy hurt his ankle, and he went and passed out like a pussy 'cause he's got leeches all over him. I've got a first aid kit in my car, but I'm not dragging his heavy ass out of the forest by myself. Not since you've been nothin' but helpful tonight." Dean spared a look over at emo guy who was panting through his mouth. It probably had something to do with the crooked state of his nose. He didn't appear to be in a talkative mood at any rate, and Dean didn't care enough to make small talk.

Sammy was still right where Dean had left him with no change in consciousness. It was just as well; he probably would have insisted on walking out. Dean did not want to spend another five minutes here, let alone another hour. He nodded at Sam's legs, glancing at emo guy in a silent order. Dean hefted up Sam's shoulders, emo guy got the feet, and they were off.

----------------

Sam didn't immediately know where he was when he finally came to. When his eyes finally focused, he noticed that he was lying on his back in the rear of the Impala while a strange, dark-haired man watched him intently. A moment later, Sam realized who it was and laughed in relief. Ianto had made it after all and that felt better than anything else all night. Though, Sam noticed that the Welshman's nose was swollen and dark while the rest of his face seemed to be a bright pink colour as though he'd been scrubbing at it. Sam guessed broken nose.

"How are you feeling? What happened back there?" Sam murmured, his voice thick.

"I'm doing fine," Ianto assured. "Your brother found me and we carried you back to his car.

"You met Dean? Where is he?"

"Down here, loser."

Sam frowned, propping himself up with his hands and trying to tuck his legs beneath him so that he could sit up, but his right foot wouldn't budge. There looked to be fingers wrapped tightly around it to prevent movement, and, when Sam levered himself up higher, he could finally see the top of Dean's head poking up above the leather seat. Dean glanced up, offering one of his patented smirking grins before releasing the captive foot.

"You're decontaminated, Sammy. You can grovel now if you like."

Sam blinked, wondering just what the hell happened. All he remembered was lying in the lake, crawling out of it…Dean arrived and…leeches. Lots of leeches. Sam quickly slapped at his neck to check, only to find the rough plastic of a Band-Aid under his fingertips. Even his foot looked clean with just a Band-Aid to show for the trouble. Dean seemed to sense Sam's confusion and held up the pair of pliers in his hand; Sam could see the fat, writhing leech clutched in its grip.

"What…what'd I miss?" he asked, feeling his stomach start to churn again.

"Not too much. We're thankful that you are doing better." Ianto's look was far more apologetic than supportive, which left Sam feeling slightly worried. His brother had to have threatened to hurt the Welshman.

"It speaks," Dean muttered. Sam frowned darkly, trying to convey the promise of a sit-down later on. The effort was wasted though; Dean wasn't paying attention.

"I'm sorry I wasn't more help," Ianto said earnestly.

"You saved my life; believe me when I tell you you've done plenty already." Sam licked his lips before sitting upright and brushing the stray strands of hair away from his face. When he did, he shuddered from the combined feeling of grime and grease, craving nothing more than a shower and a warm bed to crash in. "Can we get out of here? I feel grungy."

"You're gonna feel even grungier if we go back to that place you call a motel," Dean replied instantly. He stood up, brushing his hands from the accrued grime before leaning against the Impala with his arms crossed.

"Dean, my stuff's there; we'd have to go back anyway."

"You have sucky taste in clothes; leave 'em and buy new ones."

"The laptop?" Sam reminded his brother.

"Probably stolen now; anyone could get into those rooms if they had half a mind."

"And you have a better idea?"

Ianto coughed, hand held in front of his mouth. "I could volunteer the hotel I share with my colleagues. I don't think they'd mind if you wanted to freshen up."

Sam glanced at Ianto who still looked slightly frightened at having suggested the idea. He quickly reassured the Welshman with a sunny grin. "I thank you, I really do, but I do have to get my stuff from the motel anyway. There's no way I'm changing back into these." He plucked at the slimy clothes for emphasis.

"I could lend you something if you needed it." 

Dean grunted, kicking at a rock. "Why don't you two get a room, already?"

"Dean!"

"Even if you did take up that offer, it's not like we're sleeping there. We'd still have to return to that dump and I'd still sleeping in the car. Why the hell can't we get a better room, Sammy?"

"Because," he replied guardedly with a look for Ianto, "something's gonna happen there."

"You don't even know! How does this yahoo even know your name, Sammy? Did you take the time to introduce yourselves nice and proper while you planned this whole shindig?"

"I didn't plan it, Dean! Ianto saved my life, that's it. That would be enough for some people." Unfortunately, during the whining, Dean had just made an unrelated, though very valid point. If Ianto was chosen—plagued with visions or other weird powers—like Sam suspected, they did need to talk.

Dean sneered when he noticed Sam's absent look, and nodded smartly. "Sure he did. You know what? Fine. Do what you want."

Sam shook his head, before turning to Ianto who had tactfully averted his gaze from the row. Sam would do what needed to be done, not just what he wanted. That meant he needed answers from Ianto Jones, especially after tonight. "Do you mind? I really need a shower."

"Not a problem," Ianto affirmed as he slid out of the Chevy. "It's not far, about 10 kilometres away. If you'll wait a minute or two and allow me to fetch my vehicle, I can lead you there." At Sam's small nod, the Welshman closed the door and strode away.

**Shout outs: Lana Aurelius: **Thank you! Ianto's woobiness is a strange thing in it's two-facedness to the point where it'd be equally fun to cure him with boo boo kisses or a shag. But that's another story, hehehe. **Mistress of the Knight: **Thanks very much! It definitely helps that there's at least a little ambiguousness in the show itself that leaves plenty of interpretations. **Artemisdesari: **Sammy's my favourite too, poor boy, and you always hurt the ones you love. –fluffs his hair- Thanks for the review!


	6. Chapter 5

**Title:** Dues to Pay

**Author:** Arenas

**Fandoms:** Supernatural/Torchwood

**Characters/Pairings:** All, but features Sam, Dean, Jack, Ianto specifically. Implied Jack/Ianto

**Rating:** PG-13 now for language and graphic violence

**Warnings:** Spoilers for "In My Time of Dying," "Nightmare," (SPN) "Cyberwoman," (TW) and "Doomsday" (Doctor Who), gory violence, slash (Jack/Ianto)

**Disclaimer:** I'm poor. I'm wicked poor, like…so wicked poor I don't own nada.

**Summary:** The Winchester brothers are sent to NJ because of another of Sam's mysterious visions, this time involving members of an elite force by the name of Torchwood and a monster that might be too powerful to handle.

**Chapter 5**

"Dude, I can't believe you're doing this," Dean snapped.

Sam sighed, wondering if maybe beating his head against the dash would alleviate the headache his brother (and his damn car) was causing. His clothes stank, his hair was funky, he was tired, he felt as though he'd crawled through something's digestive track, and the Impala's idling was just making his skull ache. He just really wanted to get to wherever Ianto was leading them, find out what he knew and sleep for a very long time. That left little room for bickering with Dean, despite the fact that they were all stopped at a red light.

"For the last time, he _saw_ me, okay?" he said tiredly. "I need to talk to him to find out what he knows. Dean, if the yellow-eyed demon's behind this, this could be a lot worse than we thought!"

The older Winchester pursed his lips, brow creasing in concentration or anger or both. Sam folded his arms across his chest, thinking that maybe Dean had dropped the subject for a change. In a way, he had.

"If your wet ass cracks my leather, you're paying to reupholster my car."

Sam's head lolled backwards, eyes drifting closed. "I don't care, Dean."

Dean's head turned so that he could examine Sam in the glow of Ianto's taillights. Had he been paying attention, Sam would have caught the curious expression on his brother's face. As it was, Sam merely called it a victory when they started driving again and Dean remained quiet for the rest of the drive.

-----------------------------

The lights from outside the curtained window didn't penetrate far into the room; they just painted the sanded ceiling a dark slate blue. Peaceful, quiet, but Jack still couldn't sleep, because insomnia was the norm nowadays. Night was the time when the more sinister thoughts played in the back of his skull, and it was a good night when he could say that he got a full eight hours. When he didn't though, he never exactly suffered: his immortality seemed to take care of that problem.

He was suffering through another such wakeful night when his eyes opened slowly. Jack cocked his head, aware of a series of thumps coming from far off down the southern corridor of the hotel. They sounded like the sort of thumps that would be best described as footsteps; it was possibly a party out too late for its own good. There seemed to be a few pairs of shoes, three by his guess, and one with a distinct limp. Strange, but not unheard of.

Even so, Jack proceeded to keep very still on the couch after he dragged over the thin blanket that had been draped over the back and covered his body. His left hand shifted around the gun handle tucked snugly in his palm, giving him a better shot of aiming should the need arise. Granted, there was always the chance that the bullet wouldn't make it through the couch, but the odds were greater that it was just some random party passing through at 2 in the morning. At least, until the footsteps stopped outside Jack's door.

How many pairs of shoes had he heard? Three, Jack thought. Odd. Either it wasn't Ianto but a set of petty thieves…or the Welshman had brought company. Jack inched the gun higher up on his chest, shut his eyes, and waited.

The lock snicked quietly, and the door swung inwards, permitting more light from the hallway to flood the room and stain the inside of his eyelids a dark red. When the door swung closed again, Jack had to remind himself to take deep, bolstering breaths. The deeper and more even, the better—he was supposed to be asleep, after all.

"The WC is through that door. I could dig up some clothes if you like—"

"Actually, Ianto…I was kind of hoping you'd just give me some answers. I would really like to know if you've ever had visions—"

Jack heard a muffled sound, the sort of sound that Jack usually related to an extremely uncomfortable Ianto. "I'd rather…my boss is asleep. Is there any way we could do this tomorrow?"

There was another voice this time, a harsher one than Ianto and the first speaker. "Sammy, can we just get the hell out of here before I feel a severe need to kick your ass?"

"Ianto, listen…if you don't want to do this now, we don't have to, but I'd really like to do it soon. There's a lot at stake here, things we're not even sure of."

Had Jack not been quite so familiar with Ianto, he would have missed the sigh, it was that quiet. "I rather figured it was more than a shower you wanted. Er…I can check."

"Don't encourage him, English boy!"

"I'm Welsh, if you must know." Jack had to bite on the inside of his lips to keep himself quiet. He could imagine the sort of look that accompanied _that_ statement. Incidentally, he didn't count on the smirk that must have been quirking the corners of his lips. "I can tell you're awake, sir. They're all right; they mean no harm. They'd like a word, sir."

Damn. Jack hadn't even heard Ianto approach. He cracked open an eyelid, catching sight of Ianto, the back of the couch, the ceiling, and not much more. If Ianto hadn't just given away his hiding place, the chances were high that nobody would have noticed him, the couch back hiding him from sight of the doorway. Jack frowned, trying to look as inconvenienced as possible. "Don't they know it's an ungodly hour?"

"I think they're aware, sir, yes." Ianto nodded slightly, even as he smiled in that cute, apologetic way of his. Jack liked that smile, liked it a lot in fact. At least, until he noticed that something was seriously wrong with Ianto's nose. It was large and swollen in the dim light; it had definitely been broken. Jack's mind made the obvious conclusion: they'd hurt Ianto, it was a trap.

"Um, Captain Harkness, we haven't met and, in fact, I hadn't met Ianto before tonight either, but I think it's important we talk. We're not armed."

"Not that we wouldn't like to be," the harsh voice muttered. That statement was accompanied by the dull thunk of flesh against flesh and a small gasp of hurt. Harsh voice cursed, snarled something at his companion, who hissed a response back. If there was one thing that Jack found to be terribly unprofessional, it was when his enemies bickered amongst themselves. 

He glanced at Ianto who shrugged helplessly. Ianto didn't look to be distressed at all, merely bewildered and maybe a little peeved at the display. Jack silently asked "What the hell happened," by tipping his head at Ianto, only to receive a small shake of the head in return. Time to bite the bullet.

Jack sat up, gun raised in the air.

It was a pair of younger kids who looked like they could barely hold their own in a mosh pit, let alone a fight with a trained operative. The taller one looked like a giant puppy, especially with his foot sticking out behind him. Jack noticed that the ankle looked a little bruised, and there were swathes of gauze or Band-Aids on what exposed skin he could see. The shorter one…Jack didn't mind saying that he was very nice to look at. However, Jack wasn't the leader of Torchwood Three because he was cocky (merely arrogant and self-assured); he wanted Gwen in on the conversation in case things got hairy. He glanced at Ianto who had his hands behind his back in as unassuming position as he could manage.

"Go get Gwen, okay?" Jack asked.

"You're sure she needs to be in on this, sir?"

"Yes, I am sure, Ianto. Go get her."

"Yes, sir."

The Welshman left the room, turning on the light as he did so, leaving Jack alone with the two strangers. He didn't believe that they were unarmed for an instant. Well…the tall, slimy one was probably being honest—he had the same innocent eyes that Ianto did. His shorter companion though, he was a different story.

"Let me guess. Pistol, holster at the small of your back," Jack asked with a cocky grin, lips uncovering a few of his teeth.

To watch the scandalized look spread across the shorter one's face was hysterical in its own right. When the taller one glanced at his partner and goggled in surprise—genuine surprise!—Jack didn't worry so much about the danger anymore. He laughed outright at the pair of them.

"Dean, I said no weapons!"

"Don't give me that bullshit that everybody's a great, wonderful ray of sunshine, Sammy."

"Do you care at all about the sort of trouble we might be in? And you're gonna try your damnedest to get us into even more trouble by bringing a weapon into some dude's hotel room? Dean…" The young guy, Sammy, looked flustered, annoyed, pissed, out of sorts, and his clothes were turning green. Sammy pointed a finger in the other guy—Dean's—face. "…you're unbelievable."

To his credit, Dean looked slightly sheepish, but there was also more than a little confusion in those eyes. "What, you think you're my mother now?"

"Would you have listened to her?"

"Don't bring her into this."

Finally, Jack deemed it time that he step in and offer a friendly hand. "Guys, guys, does it look like I'm particularly concerned?"

Sammy looked at him with an interesting expression, as though he seemed apologetic, angry and worried at the same time. "Listen, I'm gonna apologize for my brother—"

"Don't worry about it," Jack replied. He lowered the hand with the gun, though he refused to reholster it. Trust within reason. "Listen, when Ianto gets back with Gwen, we'll get down to business."

"What I have to say really doesn't concern anyone but Ianto, Captain Harkness. I can understand your interest, but…do we really need a bigger audience?" Sammy asked tentatively. The expression could have been a smile if he didn't look green around the edges.

Jack had to admit that he was rather amused and secretly pleased by the kid's pomp, circumstance and graduation gown. Nobody called him Captain Harkness except maybe the police. He had style, Jack gave him that much. "Yeah, she does." He grinned. "Can't have you overwhelming us with your pistol, can we?"

Sammy's weak attempt at a carefree expression seemed to just melt right off his face—metaphorically speaking—giving Jack a reason to laugh openly.

"Are you all sniffing crazy gas or is it just me?" Dean asked quietly, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from his brother. Jack shut his eyes and shook his head; this was going to be a very long night. 

Before the two could leap at the other's throat again, the door opened for the second time that morning, admitting Ianto and a very sleepy Gwen. Ianto took up a post against the wall; Gwen plopped on the window sill with a yawn. Good, time to get this craziness out of the way. Jack folded his arms across his chest.

"Well? What've you got to say for yourself?"

--------------------

The line was so old and corny, Sam nearly laughed out of sheer nervousness. 

"Er…well…" He didn't know how to phrase his story without coming off as a complete lunatic. God knew how many people he'd turned off just by being honest, chosen ones being no exception. If Ianto turned out to be anything like Max, the first person they'd encountered that had special powers…

Ianto wouldn't turn around and start killing people, would he?

That thought didn't help clear his mind at all. He was still apprehensive at being on display like this when he really only wanted to tell Ianto what might happen if he went into the woods again. However, he had a full audience now: Sam had to suck it up or go back to the ratty motel.

"Well…?" Jack made a motion with his hand, encouraging Sam to continue.

"Well…" Sam licked his lips. "…the truth is that I can see things. I mean…the future. Like…bad things that will happen if we don't try to change it. I had a vision about the three of you and…" he trailed off. Sam was at a loss for words. He glanced over at Dean, hoping for a little support and received nothing. His brother was pinning Gwen with the look that usually indicated Dean wanted a phone number. The youngest Winchester sighed, turning back to Jack. "I saw Ianto get eaten by a…a demon. The demon we saw tonight. Me 'n Dean thought it was the Jersey Devil, so we tried to find it tonight as kind of preventative maintenance. I don't know if you know the legends, but it doesn't usually kill people. And…so far, it's kinda carnivorous."

Usually, when he told other people his visions, they usually reacted in similar ways. Some were shocked. Laughter wasn't unfounded, if they didn't believe a word of what he was saying. In fact, he'd grown used to those reactions; Sam wasn't prepared for the blank staring. Jack looked as though he'd just been carved from ice, while Ianto just blanched. Gwen just seemed perplexed and slightly annoyed by Dean's none-too-subtle looks.

"You see the future," Jack stated flatly.

"Yeah. I do. It's a power I've had for awhile now, and, incidentally, I think Ianto might have it too," Sam replied with a meaningful look for the Welshman. "Ianto, when you were six months old, did your home burn down? A mysterious fire that no one could explain? Probably originating in your nursery?" He tried to encourage some kind of memory, using his hands in a circular motion.

When Ianto blinked and frowned, Sam knew that the reference hadn't made an impact. The Welshman shook his head, looking more confused than before. "No, never been in a fire before in my life. Well…I was in one, but I'd rather not talk about that. Is fire the catalyst?"

Sam shook his head. "Not really a catalyst, more of a sign. Most of the people I've met with powers had fires the night of their sixth month birthday, but not all of them. Have you had other visions? Seen things before they happened in serious clarity and detail that they seem real?"

"Like déjà vu? Everyone's had a bit of that I imagine." Ianto's small smile seemed more weak and forced than anything else. Sam mentally filed that away for future consideration

"Not quite. More like dreams, sometimes when you're awake, and when they finish, you just get this gut feeling that tells you that whatever you saw is real. Sometimes you get headaches."

"If I can interrupt your absolutely fascinating narrative, what the hell does this have to do with Ianto getting killed?" Jack snapped.

"Truthfully, I don't know, but if what I suspect is true, he might be in worse trouble, and not just from the demon tonight—"

"Uh, Sammy…I was under the impression you killed the monster. If you didn't kill it and this wasn't a joke, what the fuck were you doing out in the lake?" Dean had finally managed to wrench his perverted attentions away from Gwen. Sam could not have been more annoyed with Dean's sudden interest in the conversation.

"I tried to kill it with holy water, but it didn't work. It's not from Hell, and it's not possessed," he sighed.

"It escaped."

Sam nodded slightly, eyes drifting downwards. Dean exhaled sharply, possibly raring for some kind of a tirade, however, the younger Winchester was in no mood for any of that bullshit. He turned back to the trio of foreigners in an attempt to control his temper.

"It's still out there, which is part of the reason I have to know what I can do to convince you to stay out of the forest. Otherwise, we're gonna have to go in with you." 

"How about I tell you that you have a greater chance of a Slitheen giving up her business endeavours and devolving into an egg than you do of keeping us out of the forest," Jack replied with a smug smile. "It's a private investigation; no civilians allowed, understand? Maybe it's you who needs to stay out of the forest, hm?"

Dean's "what the fuck?" expression said exactly what Sam wanted to. He didn't know what a Slitheen was, nor did he care. He needed to know that his vision wasn't coming true. "Captain Harkness, you, Ianto and Gwen are in the woods when this happens. The Jersey Devil leaps out of the forest and eats one of you. If you gave a damn about the welfare of your colleagues, you'd listen to what I had to say."

"Listen…lad…we're professionals," Gwen yawned, finally joining the conversation. "We've been handling monsters for a while now, and there's no reason to be alarmed. It was probably just a nightmare."

Sam had one last weapon to appeal to this group of suicidal lunatics: knowledge. He limped forward, hoping to corner the Welshman into honest, if not full answers. "Ianto, have you seen a Reaper? I don't care if this is the last question you'll let me ask, but I have to know. Have you ever seen a Reaper before?"

The room, save for some shallow breathing, went silent.

He pressed on. "In my vision, Ianto'd seen a reaper. Captain Harkness, you denied their existence; one of you is right. I've gotta know."

Ianto looked as though he were trying to beat an albino in a contest of paleness, and he might have been winning. "No. I've never seen a…a Reaper."

The look that the captain gave the Welshman was anything but comforting. "I think we need to discuss the definition of 'Reaper' here."

"Are we all going to die if it waits till we get a proper start in the morning?" Gwen asked softly.

"Sammy, I'm gonna agree with the little lady on this one," Dean chimed in. "Fun as it is burning the midnight oil with you, a guy's gotta turn in sometime—" 

"You're not sleeping with me," Gwen said sharply.

"A point I fully agree with," Captain Harkness added fimly.

Sam just watched Ianto, hoping to convey the silent plea to open up. The Welshman refused to look upwards, however, and stubbornly kept his eyes trained on the carpet.

"You've never seen a Reaper. Even in your dreams," the youngest Winchester asked softly.

Ianto shook his head "no" again. Sam sighed.

"All right. Let's get out of here, Dean."

-----------------------------

The car ride home was worse than a ride to the police station. At least Dean had been allowed to tease the cops; Sammy just looked ready to down a big old bottle of pills. Time to act concerned, like a good big brother. Not to mention the fact that, well…Dean felt a little bad.

"Dude, there was nothing you could do to convince 'em you're right. You've just gotta let 'em see what they're dealing with. They'll come begging you for help."

Silent treatment. Sammy was ignoring him. It fucking figured. Dean wasn't going to give up that easily.

"Sammy, really. They're not idiots. And if they are, good freaking riddance, the world's better off without them."

Still nothing. Now the moping was just getting annoying.

"Sammy, I know you just get all weepy when you've got nobody to fuss over, but seriously, why are you choked up about this? Loads of people don't believe you when you tell them you're crazy. Hasn't stopped you from saving as many of them as you could." Dean chanced a look over and noticed that Sam's jaw was _tense_. If the muscles in his cheek got any tighter, Dean thought his jaw might snap, crackle and pop. Funny as it might be in his head, he did have to look out for his baby brother.

Dean piloted his car up the dirt road that led to the dump of a motel. When the engine stopped rumbling and the lights cut out, he and Sammy sat alone in the car for an uncomfortably long time. It was so long, Dean almost considered kicking Sammy out—almost but not quite. Then Sammy's go-getter attitude started making an appearance.

"I'm not gonna let them die, Dean. I won't."

"Sammy I know we're gonna save—"

"Harkness is an ass. I have to appeal to Ianto, but he's too frightened to tell me anything. I've gotta get him to open up—"

"Ooookay…" Dean wasn't going to argue with Sammy when he was like that. Well, unless it was over beer or chicks or something, but not over a dude's life. He liked to think that he had more class than that.

"I'm gonna take a shower and go to bed," Sammy sighed. "See you in the morning." He opened the door and kicked his legs out of the car.

"You uh…you need me in there?"

Sammy shook his head, slammed the door, and limped into the building. A large of Dean's brain yelled at him to run in after his baby brother, while the rest just told him to chill. Sammy had to work it out for himself, after all. It was part of Dean's plan for his baby brother to "grow up and get laid."

That's when Dean noticed something interesting on the door. There was more than just the wear and tear on it…Those were claw marks on the door and doorframe.

A chair crashed through the window of their room.

Dean wasted no time getting out of the car and running towards the building. He didn't exactly know what to expect, but there was no time to think when some monster had his brother. Dean kicked open the door before dropping to a crouch and whipping out the pistol from the small of his back.

Standing in the middle of the room, shoulders hunched and fists clenched, was Sammy. The room, by some miraculous event, was even more trashed than it had been when they first showed up. Clothes were on the floor; the laptop was torn to bits; all of the furniture was in splinters… When Dean finally got to his feet again, he noticed more of those same claw marks on the walls around the room.

And Sammy, he looked as though he could either blow a gasket or curl up on the floor. He picked up the screen of his laptop that was barely hanging onto the bottom half by a couple wires.

"It tracked us. The thing tracked us…" Sam whispered. Whatever strength and righteous anger he'd gathered to teach the chair who was boss was gone. Goddamn he looked like a kicked puppy.

"You couldn't have known, Sammy. Really…not like anybody's gone and tried to kill the Jersey Devil before, right?"

"I let it go and it turns around and hunts us. It almost got us…"

"Sammy! Lots of things hunt us back. Chill."

"Dean, it might attack again. For all we know, it could be watching us right now!" Sammy yelled. At the rate he was going, he'd probably start hyperventilating or something. What the hell was wrong?

"And you just helped it walk back in by hurling a chair through a perfectly good window. Like I said, chill!" Dean replied, holding up both hands in a submissive position.

Sammy glared at him. "That's not helping."

"You're wigging out, Sammy, what the hell am I supposed to do?"

"I dunno, Dean, try not picking up chicks while I'm trying to inform people they're gonna die?"

Dean's mouth snapped shut on his retort, his eyes narrowing. "Dude. Leave it."

Sammy just shook his head, lips practically thinned to nonexistence. "Go get some hookers, Dean. I'll figure this out on my own."

"You can't just kick me out, Sammy."

"It's not like you were planning on staying anyway." And then he folded his arms across his chest, and tried to look intimidating. Frankly, Dean wouldn't have minded taking Sam down a notch, punching the shit out of him right then and watching him fall on his ass.

He straightened his leather jacket, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt to arrange to coat more comfortably. He took a last look at Sam. "Right, you go sulk in a corner until you calm the hell down. I'm gonna go be a freaking amazing big brother."

Dean turned around, and stormed back out to the car. Not even a spin in the Impala could cheer him up now, but it looked like he didn't have a choice in the matter. But before he left, he waited to make sure that Sammy wandered into the bathroom before depositing the sawed-off shotgun and plenty of rock salt shells, just inside the smashed window.

**Shout out: Lana Aurelius: **Dean, alas, is not hip to the gospel that is Ianto. He does make up for it in future chapters though; all is not lost with him.


	7. Chapter 6

**Title:** Dues to Pay

**Author:** Arenas

**Fandoms:** Supernatural/Torchwood

**Characters/Pairings:** All, but features Sam, Dean, Jack, Ianto specifically. Implied Jack/Ianto

**Rating:** PG-13 now for language and graphic violence

**Warnings:** UBER-SPOILER WARNING for the Doctor Who episode, "Doomsday," and the Torchwood episode "Cyberwoman."

**Disclaimer:** I am but a college student who is too poor to pay for my own tuition. I own nada.

**Summary:** The Winchester brothers are sent to NJ because of another of Sam's mysterious visions, this time involving members of an elite force by the name of Torchwood and a monster that might be too powerful to handle.

**A/N:** This chapter's a bit late because I was suffering through finals week and got my brain sucked out by a history paper. I'm okay now though, pinky swear.

**Chapter 6**

"'m sorry," Ianto murmured. He shifted the bag of ice on his face so it didn't touch his cheeks, and tried to just relax. Jack didn't seem angry, more like utterly relieved, but he couldn't help the niggling voice at the back of his mind that said he'd done a very bad thing by running off without much warning and bringing back strangers. While he ruminated on his life choices of late, Jack plopped down on the bed beside him, stretching out languidly and curling an arm about Ianto's waist. He smiled gently at the touch, though it was obscured by the bag on his face.

"Nothing to apologize about. You did what you thought was right."

"I disobeyed, sir."

The expression on Jack's face turned into a frown as he seemed to consider what Ianto had said. "I didn't know you were into S&M. Am I supposed to spank you now? Because I will—I just never really thought you were the type to be turned on by pain."

Ianto shook his head. It still felt strange to talk, so he tried to do as little as possible, even with the ice. He hoped the swelling went down soon. "Did you think I'd come back?"

Jack's frown deepened at that. The lips thinned fractionally, and the blue eyes narrowed just enough to be noticeable. Ianto wanted nothing more than to lie down on the bed and be held by Jack. For the second time that night, he gave into his gut instinct and snuggled down on the comforter. Jack, just as Ianto had hoped, wrapped his arms around Ianto's belly and hugged him close.

"'m still sorry," the dark-haired man said quietly. Jack planted a kiss in the crook of his neck in answer. Eventually, though Ianto wasn't sure when, he had drifted off to sleep.

He twitched, trying to ignore the sting of smoke in his nose. Canary Wharf, Torchwood Tower, was under attack. On the current list of concerns, however, smoke was not the top one. It was annoying, but there were more important things to worry about than suffocation. After all, it wasn't unexpected for there to be a hint of smoke if the smoke alarms were sounding off. What mattered was where Lisa had wound up and whether or not she was safe. He had waited for her by the stairs and hadn't seen her evacuate with the other employees from higher levels. There was the chance that he'd missed her, but it was unlikely; Ianto knew his girlfriend better than anyone and knew that she wouldn't let herself be led to safety if he was still in danger.

Ianto glanced backwards to see if perhaps she'd escaped down another stairwell and found nothing but a light haze of smoke. However, he noticed that the overhead lights were flickering sporadically, an odd occurrence for Torchwood with its private generators. The alarms had gone off in Torchwood Tower over twenty minutes ago, but there still was no sign of the probable fire. He suspected that whatever was happening had to have started down in the lower levels where the top secret projects were kept.

Projects like the Sphere. Normally, people with his clearance didn't know about the projects that went on underground, but Ianto was quite clever when it came to computers. He was able to hack into one, do his business, and leave without a trace. As Ianto went looking for the nearest abandoned cubical on his level to find out more information on Lisa's whereabouts, he saw something that surprised him.

It was a unit of silver, man-sized robots marching heavily through the hallway with one in the lead and six robots at its back. They were in formation; their steps were like a highly-trained military troupe.

_Are those what we're fighting?_ Ianto wondered. _They're just great androids. Perhaps they're here to help evacuate the building while everyone else is downstairs. I won't be evacuated, not without Lisa!_

Ianto ducked into a closet, hoping he wouldn't be noticed. He could still hear the tread of those metallic feet on the tile floor as they thudded closer.

The first one went by, as did the first pair. By the time the second pair was even with the crack in the doorway Ianto was peeking out of, someone had run up alongside the androids. It looked like a man he saw occasionally in the cafeteria, James, and he had his coat tucked under his arm as he tried to flee the building.

"Move! There's still time to escape!" he shouted.

The closest robot turned its head to look at James. It reached out a metal hand to touch the man's shoulder, but, when the metal landed on the starched shirt, bolts of what seemed to be electricity radiated from the robot's appendage. James was felled in less than two seconds.

Ianto's hand flew to his mouth to cover whatever sound tried to escape. He had to be brave for Lisa—he couldn't get himself killed by those things because he couldn't control himself! Ianto swallowed gently and waited until he could hear the uniform footsteps march away. The breath caught in his throat wasn't released until all he could hear were the alarms along the corridor. When he crawled out of the closet, the hallways were clear, except for a janitor who seemed to be mopping up the section of floor where the robots had marched in. Why the grey-jumpsuited man had been passed up instead of Ianto's colleague or where he'd come from, Ianto didn't know or care. Lisa was in trouble. He dived into the closest cubical and turned the computer on.

The computer seemed to take forever to boot, as it was wont to do when it was most needed. His fingers drummed out an angry beat on the table while the Macintosh loaded the necessary software, and, once the calm blue screen popped up, Ianto set to work hacking into Torchwood's security systems. With any luck, the guards would be busier with the mess downstairs than with his less-than-elegant hacking.

The cameras of Level 10 showed up as a series of small screens on the monitor; Ianto tried several of them and found only empty hallways. At least, until the sixth screen. There was a line of people lined up in front of a janitorial closet. A new person stepped inside, sparks flew out of the open door, and a robot stepped back out. Even more robots, like the troupe that had just marched past, patrolled the hallway and kept watch over the line of humans waiting their turn to enter the room. Those sentry robots were probably the reason why the line was so orderly and calm. Ianto wondered how many people had been killed like James before the robots had established order.

"Terrible, isn't it?" a voice asked. Ianto whirled around, eyes wide in fear that he'd been caught. It wasn't a guard, just the janitor that he had noticed earlier, except there was something wrong—deeply wrong—with him. His eyes were _yellow_.

"All those people…they're going to walk into that room and get strapped to a table," the janitor continued. "When that happens, these nasty instruments are going to come down, cut them up, rebuild them as robots. Cybermen, actually, not just robots. No emotions at all, just metal. Not a bad existence though, if you think about it. Getting to live without fear, or pain or anxiety…ideal even."

"Who the hell are you?" Ianto snapped. Even as he asked the question, he had a gut feeling that he wasn't going to receive a real answer. Something felt completely and utterly wrong about this man that Ianto couldn't place.

"Me? Nobody. I have no name."

"What are you still doing here, why haven't you left?"

"Oh, don't worry about me. I can take care of myself, thanks." The man smiled, and it was smug, with a flash of bright teeth. If it wasn't for those _eyes_ Ianto would never have been able to identify him from a lineup. He was taller, medium build, brown hair…average in every way. Perhaps that was why Ianto hadn't noticed him before, even with his strange eyes.

Ianto shook off his agitation. Now was not the time to be worrying about something as trivial as security clearance. "You'd do best to get out of here while you still can," he replied honestly before checking the monitor again for any sign of Lisa.

"See someone you know in there? Perhaps the fifth person in…?"

Ianto shuddered as that voice trailed off. He wanted very much just to ignore the advice—he would have given anything to do so—but he couldn't help it. It was almost as though he were dealing with an alien adept at mind control, except for the fact that the vibes he was getting from the janitor were more ethereal than extraterrestrial. His eyes wandered over to the person who was just four people away from going into the janitorial closet. Just as he'd feared, there she was: her economically styled black hair, her stylish suit, her pumps. Lisa would be taking that walk very shortly unless he did something. But what could he do that would effectively stop one of those things? Unless he could somehow run up and whisk her away without them noticing. It was a very weak plan, especially when the being seemed to know so much. Perhaps he knew their weakness!

"Can you help me? Please, I have to save her!" Ianto cried, rounding on the man again.

"I'm just here for the carnage. Even I need a bit of fun now and then."

"A bit of _fun_?" Every bit hope that had so recently bolstered his spirits effectively vanished with that unbelievable statement.

"Are you going to repeat everything I say in a completely outraged tone of voice? That's going to get very old."

Ianto glared, feeling his teeth clench. "It needs to stop. If you won't, I'll do it myself." He leaped forward, intending to shove by the being when the man spoke again.

"I assure you, you cannot. This is above your head, and the head of every member of your silly little Torchwood team. The only people who can do a bit of good are already doing all they can and it isn't enough."

Technically…what the man was saying was true. If all of Torchwood's best defenses—the only people who could do a bit of good—hadn't already been employed wherever the problem was, Ianto would already be outside safe with Lisa. Nobody was coming to save Lisa; it was up to Ianto and he didn't know what to do. His best lead was this man who practically oozed evil and temptation. And yet, that feeling in his gut told him that if he wasn't patient, Lisa would be lost forever.

She was now fourth in line.

"Do you know how to stop this?" he whispered weakly.

Those yellow eyes glittered in the hazy, smoky light, and the smile grew wider. He shrugged, looking for all the world as though he had a dirty secret that he was just itching to tell.

"Truthfully, I am here just for the show, but I wouldn't be averse to making a small deal. You amuse me, Ianto Jones. People strongly underestimate you, and you let just them—"

"Can you help or not?" Ianto yelled. He didn't even have time to care that the demonic man knew his name; a new android had just stepped out of the room.

"I don't work for free, Ianto. You have to persuade me." That damn smile, he was grinning like a Cheshire cat!

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his money clip and hurled it at the man. "Take it all, I don't care, I want her to live!"

The yellow-eyed man just cocked his head at the proffered payment, his eyes narrowing slightly. Ianto didn't know what to do; his offering didn't seem to be good enough, yet he didn't have anything else to give. The janitor just gazed at Ianto with that irritatingly smug look.

"What do you want then? I haven't got anything else!"

The demonic man continued to smile. "You, Ianto."

He shook his head, feeling his stomach bottom out. "I don't understand."

A laugh. "Here's the deal. I don't make it a point to meddle in what should be, so these are the non-negotiable terms. I'll save Lisa, but your soul belongs to me. And, because I am just too nice, I'll even give you 10 years with her before I collect my payment."

The nausea was so bad now; Ianto thought he might actually vomit. He was considering going to make a deal with a yellow-eyed devil. The first thing a young employee learned at Torchwood was that there were no angels or demons, only aliens. Here was living proof that not only was this not the case, but this particular demon wanted the soul that gave Ianto a purpose. Without a soul, how did one love and live?

Lisa was second. Sparks spat out of the room. Despite the graininess of the camera, Ianto could see tears sparkling on her cheeks. In that second, Ianto knew that he would give anything and everything just to keep her safe. Even his soul.

"Fine. I agree," he said softly, eyes still locked the disturbing scene. He didn't hear the other man approach, so he had to fight to contain himself when the janitor placed his hand on Ianto's shoulder.

"Shake on it."

It was weak, absent, and lost, but he brought his hand up to grip the janitor's. His hand was warm, even in Ianto's sweaty palm.

"You will save her?"

"It's done," the man said casually. Ianto frowned at that, wondering just what had happened. He glanced at the screen to see the new android step out of the room. The man standing in front of Lisa stepped into the room. Nothing miraculous happened, no trumpeting of a last minute cavalry. Ianto didn't know what to expect, but it didn't look as though it had worked; what was worse was that nothing had changed! She was still going to be turned into a robot, and time had run out.

Ianto shoved passed the yellow-eyed man and bolted for the deserted stairwell. He'd never run up those stairs faster in his life; the blood pumping in his ears seemed louder than even his breathing. She had to have just stepped into the room because he was too selfish and thoughtless to think some strange janitor could help. Ianto burst out of the stairwell and continued running.

Suddenly, the atmosphere seemed to change. It felt as though someone had switched the venting system to a vacuum setting, but it didn't seem to be sucking at him or his clothes. The air just felt cleaner. Ianto didn't know whether to take it as a promising omen or not. He didn't know much of anything at the moment, besides the fact that he'd be rounding the corner to see a Lisa-robot any second now. He rounded the corner at a sprint and just narrowly avoided getting brained by an android flying through the air.

Another robot went flying by, then two more, as though they were being flung down the hall, but their momentum was too great. Ianto wanted to drop to the ground to avoid the monsters, but the rush of people prevented him from doing any such thing. He recognized a few of them from the line leading into the closet. Ianto knew that he was very close now. The doorway was just visible, but there were no sparks issuing from it. He had either been far too late, or just in time. A last android was sucked down the hall before Ianto made it to the room.

Lisa was strapped to a table, and he so wished that he could just pretend it wasn't her. The process hadn't been completed before the robots got sucked out of the room, leaving Lisa encased in some sort of a metal bathing costume. The sad little thought crossed his mind that she never used to like to go to the beach because people would look at her in her suit; the androids had even taken that choice away from her.

As he crept closer, he noticed that her eyes were open and screwed up in pain. When they locked onto Ianto's face, they opened wider in surprise while the mouth gaped.

"Ianto!"

He shook his head, tears beginning to bead at the corners of his eyes. She was alive and he couldn't think of a thing to say to make it better. Ianto was supposed to have the answers because she hurt and she needed him and his mind was a horrid blank. A few tears tracked down his cheeks in sympathy as he reached out and cupped her cheek.

"Ianto." She winced. "Yan, it hurts."

No matter how much he wanted not to believe it, his poor Lisa was some sort of cybernetic being from a science fiction film. Even his own silent apologies sounded weak in his mind. He unstrapped her from the table and held her close, just stroking her cheek and hugging her as tightly as he dared. Oh Lisa…

"I love you Lisa. I'm so sorry; oh God, Lisa, I'm so, so sorry," Ianto choked out, his eyes squeezing shut

"Ianto…Yan…" she whispered. Her eyes fluttered shut and Ianto had to stifle his moan of anguish. He'd lost his girlfriend to evil, destructive androids because he'd taken too long haggling over a price for false services with a janitor who just happened to have strange eyes. Lisa didn't deserve a git like him.

It was awful, the cold metal of her body suit sucking the heat out of his arm. It was a long, dodgy moment where Ianto had to firmly remind himself that there were worse things that could have happened—at least she was still alive, even if he couldn't exactly face her yet. He had to consciously slow his breathing before it escalated into wild, hysterical sobs; the Welshman turned his head turned towards the open door and took deep, even breaths. It was then that he noticed something then: there was an old man standing in the middle of the room, and he was advancing towards the pair of them.

"Old" was not quite the word that Ianto wanted; "wizened" was better, and "eerie" even more so. His skin was completely grey, and his eyes were too deep-set to notice the colour. The fine, slicked-back hair was cropped short and the suit looked professional, but those dead eyes were what caught his attention, the image of the yellow-eyed janitor still fresh in Ianto's mind.

The old man was close now; he reached out a gnarled hand for Lisa. Ianto didn't know how he knew, but what he was witnessing was Death. Death was trying to take Lisa from him and there was nothing he could do! He tugged Lisa away from the old man's hand, Ianto's face twisting into a mask of rage.

"You can't have her! You can't take Lisa! She's still alive! _She's still alive!_"

A breath wheezed out of the old man's mouth, almost like a sigh, but the face was expressionless. It felt like Ianto's guts were knotting on the inside from fear and anxiety. His eyes were practically glued to the wrinkled countenance, he didn't even notice the black wisps seeping through the vent by his right thigh until it had congealed into a cloud above the old man's head. It darted into the old mouth, stopping Death in its tracks. When the cloud had been fully assimilated, the once dark eyes glowed a brilliant yellow.

The lips parted once again, and that voice, the janitor's voice without the London accent, gusted out. In fact, it sounded very Yank. "I kept my word; I'll hold you to yours."

Ianto couldn't help but gape at the display. What was going on? What exactly _was_ the janitor that he could change bodies on a whim? "But she's hurt and barely hanging on! She could die any second!"

"She's alive. That's what you wanted," the gravelly voice said evenly.

"I wanted her _safe_!" Ianto shouted.

"She'll be in no danger of dying if you hook her back up to the table. Keep holding her much longer, she's going to die of asphyxiation and her bodily functions will cease."

"What sort of a life is it, just staying strapped to a table all the time? Why should she be subjected to this existence because I failed her?" he hissed. It was all too much, he couldn't handle it. He choked on a sob. "I was going to propose to her."

The old man eyed him incredulously, yellow-pupils shining in the dim light. "You still can. You just haven't learned how to adapt yet. Found the right sort of help."

"How can I keep her comfortable? Happy? Anything?" He sounded so lost, even in his own ears. The back of his neck burned in shame.

"You ask far too many questions," the man retorted. "My job here is definitely done."

"No!" Ianto screamed. "Please, tell me what to do!"

Death dissolved, as though a strong wind had just blown the old man apart like a smoke cloud. There was no trace of anyone else on the entire floor; Ianto was completely alone with only the lingering feeling of being watched by a pair of yellow eyes.

He checked Lisa's breathing and found that it had grown shallower since he had taken her off the table. Ianto took a deep breath, kissed Lisa gently on the mouth, and began strapping her back to the bench.

Ianto woke up, eyes widening when he noticed his surroundings. London had disappeared, leaving him in an unfamiliar room. He sat up, looking for any visual clues. What he found was Jack, staring calmly at him with a small, unhappy smile on his face.

"You were having that dream again," Jack remarked.

Ianto merely nodded, eyes downcast. He'd only explained the dream once, when he and the captain had been alone in the Hub one lonely night, long after Lisa had been executed. He hadn't elaborated on the more faith-based bits, merely mentioning the fact that there had been a janitor with strange eyes who seemed to know a lot about Cybermen. Jack wouldn't have bought that sort of stuff anyway, chalking it up to aliens of one sort or another. Ianto preferred faith to just plain knowing—it's how he and Lisa had managed to keep up their spirits after the ordeal, with promises and plans for the future.

But that was neither here nor there anymore.

"Need to talk about it?" Jack always asked that after the dream in some sort of an effort to be accessible. It was an appreciated, though an unnecessary, gesture. Ianto shook his head again.

"I'd like a shower though, sir. I'd like to clear my head," he admitted.

Jack covered up his sigh with a nod; his clear, blue eyes were carefully not meeting Ianto's as the captain chewed on his lip thoughtfully. "All right. I'm going to take a walk then. If you need anything, I'll have my phone on me."

Ianto smiled gently. Bless his captain.

**Shout out: Lana Aurelius:** Jack's definitely going to be around in the future; I love him to much not to have him show up. I think fluff may be in order soon too, because these poor guys are probably going insane.


End file.
